


Enchanted

by BethXP



Series: Old Self Insert Fics [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: F/M, Self Insert
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-26
Updated: 2014-04-26
Packaged: 2018-01-20 20:45:56
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 35
Words: 50,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1525022
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BethXP/pseuds/BethXP
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <em>Please be aware this fic is here for cataloguing and storing purposes only. It was written by a young teenager who was new to fanfiction and I hope to god has improved over the past few years. I'd rather not be told how poorly written/badly spelt/nonsense story this fic is because believe me I know, so if you read it it is at your own risk. This has been a warning by the writer of this fic. </em>
</p><p>
  <em>I am uploading a lot of old fics over the next week or so and so I am putting this warning on all of them but people have been so lovely about these things and I really appreciate it so thank you.</em>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enchanted Ch 1

"I was so drunk! I had no idea what I was doing!" 

The group of girls beside you laugh, you smile and pretend to be interested in what the girl next to you is saying. It is your first week of lectures at university and the group of girls you decided to tag along with are lovely, but you just don't have the same interests as them. You cannot help but let your imagination wonder as you start daydreaming about what kind of fascinating lecture you may have this morning. Fresher's was fun, but you couldn't wait to start learning about the world of forensic science, how every reaction works and how you piece together each detail to produce an answer to the problem. 

People were still coming in to the lecture in dribs and drabs, some in a group, some on their own, each looking for a spare seat where they could see the screen for the presentation you knew the lecturer would do. There is a seat next to you but you don't really want to sit next to a stranger so you make no effort to offer it to someone. 

You hear one of your friends say something about being too tired for this lecture and you nod absentmindedly in agreement, making an 'mmm' noise. Someone has to say that at the beginning of every lecture! You smile at yourself as you realise this and then open your book and start fiddling with your pen. Again, your eyes drift to the door as more people trudge in and look around for a seat. You go to start doodling on your pad when your eyes automatically flick back to the door as something subconsciously catches your eye. You watch as a young man's eyes quickly glance around the room and then shoot to the floor as he makes his way up the stairs. 

The pen you had been fiddling with flick's out of your hands and rolls away from your seat towards the stairs. You jump up in surprise and go over to get it when a hand appears in front of you holding your pen. 

"Thank you," you smile breathlessly as you realise the hand belongs to the boy who had caught your eye in the doorway. He does not smile back, in fact he barely meets your gaze. His eyes seem to be drifting over you, studying you. "Um... do you want a seat?" You gesture to the space next to you. His eyes narrow, suspicious, although you don't know why. You try and smile as normal as you can as you watch the expression on his face go from suspicious to confused. 

"Thank you," he says non-commitally. 

"Beth," you introduce yourself, holding out a hand. He looks at it, clearly debating whether to take it. Insulted you drop your hand and face the front, preparing to ignore him for the rest of the lecture. 

"Sherlock Holmes." You try not to grin as you look at the young man again. 

"How are you finding university life, Sherlock Holmes?" you ask, rolling his name around on your tongue. It was an unusual name, rather attractive and mysterious, for a mysterious person.

"Dull," he replies. Your eyebrows furrow together and you go to ask why, but he interrupts you. "Why do you sit with them?" he asks in a hushed tone. 

"What?"

"Those girls," he whispers as he nods to your friends beside you, "you clearly don't like them." You open your mouth to argue back but a "hello class" from your lecturer tells you that your conversation is over if you value your place at university. 

You try and sit through the lecture, try and listen, but your mind keeps wandering back to the boy sitting next to you. Why would he say something like that? And how did he know? Your stubbornness refuses to let you look at him for the full hour and instead watches the clock, counting down the seconds until you can continue where you had left off. In your head you run through all the different ways you could have the conversation. How should you start? 'How did you know?', 'what do you mean about me and my friends?', 'I don't know what you were talking about earlier.' 

Your pen had barely touched the paper the whole lecture when the professor finally announces your freedom. You pick up your things and tap on the shoulder of your companion. As he turns to look at you everything you had planned to say disappears from your mind. He stares at you questioningly as you try and work out what you want to say.

"Coffee?" A blank face was your only answer. "I mean, our next lecture is in an hour, there's no point going all the way back to the flats and then all the way back again is there?" You bumble. Again his expression turns to confusion but he nods and silently walks out of the lecture theatre and into the cafe next door with you. He orders a coffee - black, two sugars, and you get a tea - one sugar and lots of milk. 

"I thought you wanted coffee," Sherlock asked. Now that you were out of the dark lecture theatre you could really take in what this unusual character looked like. His hair, as black as night, curled around his angular face and stuck out in all directions. The blackness of it enhanced the blueness of his eyes, that shone as the light reflected in them. They were the same colour as sapphires, and yet every now and again they would appear almost green, like they changed colour at random intervals. His clothing was nothing special, dark, blends in with the crowd. Something tells you this boy does his best to stay invisible. He was rather enchanting.

Gripping tight to your tea cup you say,

"I don't like coffee."

"But you asked if I wanted coffee?"

"I know." Sherlock gave you a faint smile, the first smile he had ever given you. You make every effort not to blush. You didn't want him knowing that you were stupid enough to forget what you were thinking when you looked at him and let the first thing you could think of roll off your tongue before you had the chance to stop yourself. 

"What is it that you want?"

"I'm sorry?" It was your turn to be confused.

"Why did you want to talk to me? Something was clearly bothering you during that lecture."

"Oh really," you say sarcastically, but he does not seem to notice the sarcasm.

"Yes. I could tell from your book that you are an avid note taker, and yet you hardly wrote a word for the whole hour. You weren't concentrating and so you must have had something on your mind." Your jaw drops open. "Also, you kept looking at the clock, as if you needed to be somewhere and yet when the lecture finished you asked if I wanted coffee, so you must have wanted to talk to me about something. So what is it?"

You take a moment to compose yourself, to clear your throat and take a sip of your tea. 

"That thing you said... about my..." you pause, unable to think of a better word, "friends...". He made an 'o' shape with his mouth as he understood what you were asking. He leant forward and cupped his hands around his coffee mug. He has nice hands, you think, long and soft-looking. Shut up brain! How can fingers be pretty?!

"When you were sitting with them as I entered the room they were all talking, but you were gazing the other way with no expression on your face, daydreaming obviously. You were fiddling with your pen and doodling so you had no interest in what they were saying. Then, when you dropped your pen and I picked it up for you, you seemed quite eager for me to come sit next to you, for someone interesting to talk to." You drop your eyes thinking, that's not the only reason why I wanted to talk to you. "And then for the rest of the time you didn't say a word to those other girls, like you had forgotten they had existed. If you liked them you would have at least said good bye to them when we left but you didn't even do that!"

"It's not that I don't like them, it's just that we don't have all that much in common," you say in your defence. "They're very girly and I'm just not. I'd rather spend my time reading or studying than shopping or going clubbing." You bite your lip, realising you had just made yourself sound like such a geek! That is exactly what you are but for some reason you really didn't want this guy to know that. 

"I thought that was what uni was for, clubbing and getting drunk." You half smile, you don't like the taste of alcohol but you couldn't bring yourself to say so. A few seconds of awkward silence go by as the pair of you sip your hot drinks.

"Could I borrow your notes for that lecture? I wasn't... paying attention." Again the urge to blush came over you but you used all of your mental strength to prevent it from happening. 

"I didn't make any." He laughs at your confused expression. "I don't need to. I listen, I learn. Everything I need to know I store away in my mind, any useless information I delete. There is no point wasting space if we are to learn anything." You tilt your head to the side and say almost unconsciously,

"You are a very strange person, Sherlock Holmes." Sherlock suddenly looks very uncomfortable and shifts in his seat. 

"I think it's time for our next lecture," he mutters as he gets up and without waiting for you walks out of the building and onto the courtyard, disappearing round the corner.


	2. Enchanted Ch 2

He must be a very fast walker as he is already in a seat when you reached the seminar room. And he apparently had no intention of sitting with you again as he had chosen a seat on the end of a row next to a barbie doll looking girl and the wall. Refusing to be ignored you take the seat in front of him, turn around and smile at him. He does not look at you but you know he has registered your presence as his eyes narrow. 

"Oi!" You say, punching him lightly on the knee. The look he gives you could have killed! "It's very rude to walk out on a girl like that," you joke. 

"Is it? I didn't know." He spoke in the same non-committal voice as he said 'hello' to you just a few hours earlier. 

"Have I offended you somehow?" You ask, completely clueless as to what you have done to provoke such a reaction for someone you've only just met.

"Not at all. You have just seen me for who I am. You did put it mildly though, I have to admit I've had worse. Freak is the most common one."

"I don't understand."

"I am a freak of nature. My fast, analytical brain notices everything and I get on your nerves, I get it, but I would appreciate it if that instead of verbally abusing me you would simply ignore my existence like everyone else does. Thank you." You stare at him in complete amazement at this little outburst. Once again before you have the chance to come up with a reply your lecturer interrupts so that he can teach you all about the life of the carbon atom. This lecture is going to go very slowly.

Just like last time, you spend the hour doodling and watching the minute hand on the clock spin round until finally lecturer tells you that you can go. Not even bothering to pack your things away you pick up your stuff and rush to the end of your row, waiting for Sherlock to reach you. The expression on his face tells you he has no intention of talking to you so you deliberately block his path so he cannot get out. He sighs and rolls his eyes.

"Excuse me, you are in my way." He tries to push past you, not making eye contact, but you refuse to give way.

"I'm sorry." He looks directly into your eyes and you feel your legs turn to jelly. "I'm sorry," you say again, "I didn't mean to offend you. You are strange, but I would never call you a freak. You intrigue me, you are not like other people, and I'm sure your fast, analytical brain can tell that I like different people. Normal people are so boring. You have the same conversations day in day out and everything gets predictable. With people like us every day is an adventure!"

"Us?" he looks at you in a sort of 'there's an us now is there?' way. You stumble over your words.

"I mean, not normal. I mean, I don't mean not normal, I just mean we don't do what every one else does. I don't mean 'us' as in 'us together', I mean we both do our own thing, we are both unique." Sherlock laughs at your poor attempt to explain yourself. Relief floods your body as you see his is no longer upset with you. You step aside and allow Sherlock to finally get past you to leave the theatre. "So what are you doing now?" Sherlock's nose wrinkled up in a look of disgust. It was so cute! No it wasn't, shut up brain! 

"I have to get back to my room and call my mother. I have to call her once a week to let her know how I am. So inconvenient."

"Inconvenient? That's a nice way to talk about your mum!" You joke.

"My mother fusses. My father doesn't care for me and my brother is a nuisance."

"My little brother is 16 and he is such an attention seeker, so I know what you mean about that!" You say, pleased that you have found something in common with this guy.

"My brother is 23," he says looking at you in a way that suggests that it is a little bit more than attention seeking that makes Sherlock's brother a nuisance.

"What does he do?" you ask, intrigued. Any information on Sherlock's family tell you a little bit more about Sherlock.

"Tries to control my life." Your eyes widen at this statement.

"I'm sure he doesn't mean to," you say, then scold yourself realising how pathetic you sounded.

"Oh no, he does. He works for the government and once placed a tracking device on me because I wouldn't tell him where I was going."

"You say that as if it was normal!" you exclaim.

"It is, for my family." Clueless as to how you could reply to something like that, you walk together in silence. When it comes to the point at which you walk in opposite directions to get to your flats, you quickly rip out a blank page of your book that you still hadn't put in your bag and scribble down your phone number before shoving the piece of paper into Sherlock's hand.

"You know, if you ever want to meet up or something, like before lectures, or at the weekend if you like, you know, just text me and we can arrange something." You were babbling again and fiddling with your fringe. Quickly you shut your mouth and dropped your hand a bit too fast. Sherlock looked a bit unsure as to what to do but he thanked you and then you said good bye to each other and separated.

As you enter your flat you drop your bag on the floor, kick off your shoes, and then collapse face down on your bed.

"I don't care, Thursday is my TV night. Beth, tell her." Without looking up from your bed you know it's your two best friends and flatmates once again having an argument about who gets to watch their TV show tonight. Talking into your pillow you say,

"Sima you know full well that it's Sarah's turn tonight." You feel your bed move so you look up to see that Sarah had perched herself on the end of it. Sarah wasn't the tallest of girls but she was intelligent. Her long blonde hair scraped back in a ponytail and her glasses perched on the end of her nose. And, although you couldn't tell, she was an expert in certain self defence style sports. Her hand-eye coordination was pretty incredible.

Sima was sitting on your swivel desk chair and was entertaining herself by spinning round in circles, her long dark brown hair swishing in her face. She was the party-goer of the three of you. She was rather loud and she wasn't afraid to say what's on her mind. Something that might seem weird to you, was in fact a normal occurrence when it came to her. 

The three of you made an odd group. A sporty one, a geek, and a party animal, but together you were the closest of friends, and the variety in your group meant that you were generally prepared for any situation. 

"What's up with you?" Sima walks over and slaps you on the leg, her way of telling you to sit up and make space for her. 

"Nothing, rubbish lecture that's all." You pick your bag up off the floor and check your phone - Sherlock hasn't texted you yet, not even to give you his number. Sima makes an 'aw' noise and begins to massage your back to try and comfort you.

"You guys going to the fresher's event this Saturday?"

"Oh I don't know," you sigh, "I hardly think dressing as a blue bin bag will be the most appropriate thing to wear to a club full of drunk fresher's!"

"Why on earth would you be dressed as a blue bin bag?" Sarah asked.

"The theme is 'your dream job'. I want to be a forensic scientist so I would have to wear those blue scrubs with latex gloves and plastic bags over my shoes. Not flattering in the least." You check your phone again, still nothing. You throw it on your pillow as a response to the rejection you feel.

"How about going as a sexy scientist. Wear your white lab coat, just you lab coat!"

"Sima!" You playfully hit her on her arm with the back of your hand. "I may do that actually." Sima raises her eyebrows at you. "Except I will be wearing clothes underneath. How about you, what will you wear?"

"I'm thinking a fluorescent yellow jacket and my blue shorts. I will look like a builder but I will write 'geologist' on the back of my jacket. I have my own mini pick axe and tools that I could attach to a belt and wear that as well."

"Nice," you smile. "How about you Sarah?" Sarah contemplates for a moment.

"Well, I suppose I will have to wear a suit; blazer, skirt, shirt, black heels. Although I will look just like a businesswoman rather than a secretary."

"We should just get sashes each saying exactly what we want to be," Sima jokes.

"Ah, I doubt anyone will actually look anything like what they want to be," you say, eyeing your phone again. Unable to resist the urge you pick it up and check it for texts again.

"IT'S A GUY!" Sima exclaims, pointing at you in excitement.

"What?" Sarah turns to you, looking just as pleased.

"I... I... No!" you stutter.

"Oh please! You have just checked your phone three times in the space of about 2 minutes and you never do that! It has to be a guy, it's always a guy." You flop onto your bed in defeat, groaning, you don't have the energy to deny it. "I knew it!" Sima grins. Sarah pulls you up with her surprising strength and demands, 

"Tell us everything." They both look at you, eagerly awaiting this new information. You roll your eyes and tuck your fringe behind your ears.

"Look, it's nothing. I just met this guy today on my course and we seemed to get along."

"Is he hot?" Trust Sima to get to the important bit. You pull a face at her and sigh.

"He... looks like an angel. He has gorgeous curly hair that I just want to run my fingers through, and really pale skin that looks so soft and lovely. And his eyes!" You place your hand on your heart and make an 'oh' noise to try to express what those incredible eyes did to you.

"You're smitten!" Sarah laughs. "What's his name?"

"Sherlock Holmes," you reply dreamily.

"Oh." Sima stops smiling.


	3. Enchanted Ch 3

"What? What is it?" you frown. Sima looks away from you as if she was trying to avoid the question. "No, come on, what is it?" You nudge her and she finally returns your gaze.

"It's just, I heard some people talking about this guy in their flat called Sherlock. Apparently he's a bit of a loner." She whispered the last word as if he would hear them if she spoke in her normal voice. "Apparently he only leaves his room for lectures, they never even see him eat! And one time there was this really weird smell coming from his room but no one had the courage to ask him what it was. They've tried to be friendly with him but he just doesn't want to know so they have given up!"

"That's just hearsay," you say in Sherlock's defence. 

"They call him the 'freak'," she giggles. 

"Well they obviously aren't very nice people then are they?" You snap. Sima pulls a face at you and you sigh. "He is unusual, I've already discovered that, but that doesn't mean I can't be friends with him. I hang around with you don't I? You're weird enough!" 

"Hey!" Sima giggles, giving you a playful slap on the shoulder. 

"Anyway, I gave him my number but he hasn't texted me yet so clearly nothing is going to happen." Sarah could see from the expression on your face that you were disappointed at this thought.

"Ask him to the fresher's event this Saturday. I'm taking John and Sima is bound to find herself someone, so you need to get yourself a date!" 

John was Sarah's second year boyfriend. They had met online through the university's facebook page and had really hit it off. John, like Sarah, wasn't exactly tall for his age but he was quite well built. He was studying to be a doctor and he was very friendly, you liked him. You so badly wanted a relationship like they had but John was very plain, and you wanted someone special, so you were never interested in any of the friends he introduced to you. Sima on the other hand liked, and had, quite a few of them. She wanted a proper relationship too but she never seemed able to find the right guy. He would seem perfect the night before but then turned out to be a right jerk the morning after. You felt sorry for her really, but at least she never gave up and she always got the attention from the guys. You were always the friend and never the girl. 

"I don't really think that's his kind of thing..." You say slowly, unable to imagine Sherlock at a fancy dress party with lots of people dancing and drinking. 

"Well it's up to you my dear but don't blame us if you are left on your own when we go off with our sexy men!" You grab your pillow and throw it at Sima's head. "Hey!"

The conversation ends in a pillow fight with your two best friends.

***

Looking around the corridor you see that Sherlock has not arrived yet. Although it always sucks to have to stop what you are doing, namely catching up on this weeks Merlin, for a lecture, you only have one on a Friday so it isn't too bad. 

As everyone files into the oversized lecture theatre you are stuck with a decision. Do you go and sit with the girls you have realised you really don't like, or do you sit on your own? Your legs make the choice for you. You sit on the end but one of the side row about 7 rows up so that you're not too close. If Sherlock wants to sit next to you he can, but if he doesn't then it won't be the end of the world, and you will know not to approach him again. 

You tap your pen unconsciously against the desk a few times but then freeze as you see Sherlock enter the room and glance around. You hold your breath and watch him. No, wait, you don't want to look desperate! You quickly drop your eyes as you see him look at you. Quick pretend to be doing something! You grab your bag from off the floor and rummage through the front pocket, pretending to be checking your phone for texts. You look up to see bright blue eyes watching you.

"May I?" A hand indicates to the seat next to you. You nod,

"Hello Sherlock," you grin. He smiles back at you, a proper smile, one that reaches his eyes and makes you burn inside. "How's your mum?"

"Fussy."

"Is it worth doing the whole 'it's coz she cares for you' speech?" He shakes his head and then laughs at your poor attempt at a joke. "My flatmates declared war over the television controls again last night, I don't see why they can't just live off iPlayer, it's what I do!" Great conversation starter, you think to yourself sarcastically.

"I'm not much of a TV person, I can always predict the ending in the first 10 minutes," Sherlock shrugs.

"I don't watch a lot of stuff, but anything I do watch I am a big fan of, like Merlin, Doctor Who, Spooks, you know all that kind of stuff."

"I don't watch any of those," Sherlock admits. 

"What?" You exclaim. "Right that's it, I'm going to give you a serious TV education!" He doesn't even try and argue with you as the tone in your voice says that he has no choice in the matter. "Are you going to the fresher's fancy dress party tomorrow?" You regret asking almost immediately and the moment you ask, once again you are interrupted by your lecturer. This was beginning to get ridiculous, how dare they keep getting in the way of your conversations!

You concentrate for the first time since meeting Sherlock on your lecture, possibly because it was the most interesting one you've had so far, possibly because you were sitting next to someone who seemed to have a gravity that you were drawn to. 

"Now that was an interesting lecture," Sherlock murmurs as he picks up his bag off the floor. You scowl as you fumble with your books, jealous of the fact that Sherlock doesn't have to take notes thanks to his fast, analytical brain that remembers everything of importance.

"Best one so far," you agree. Sherlock turns and raises an eyebrow at you.

"Really?" He asks, "even those photographs?" You wrinkle your nose as you recollect the images you had been shown. The first was a decapitated head, there wasn't as much blood as you would have imagined, too much Sweeney Todd for you! The second was a baby that had been burnt with chemicals. The third was of a body that appeared to have purple bruising all the way down the left side of his chest and down his leg, he had been electrocuted and inside his body had been burnt out, fortunately you hadn't seen that much detail!

"Of course it's horrible, I really feel for the families, but it is incredibly interesting, and it spurs me on to get this degree. I want to be a forensic scientist because I want to help those in need. I could never deal with the emotional trauma of being a doctor so I decided I would become a forensic scientist, to help those struggling with loss. To answer those questions that would haunt you for the rest of your life." Realising you were getting to emotionally involved with a simple question you absent-mindedly scratch the back of your head as you say, "anyway," but you are unable to think of anything to continue the sentence with. Instead you pull your phone out of your bag and check it for texts.

1 new message.  
From: Sima  
Have you asked him yet? Do it! Do it now! X

"So, are you coming to the party tomorrow? I'm going to be there," you add, as if that would persuade him to come. 

"No, parties, people, drinking, not really my thing."

"Oh go on!" You say, tugging on his arm but he shakes his head. "Party pooper," you frown. 

"There's a theme isn't there?" he asks.

"Yeah, dream job. Me and you can go in our lab coats and specs! Well, maybe not the specs, but come on, it will be fun!"

"No I'd much rather get on with my work. Besides I wouldn't go as a scientist anyway."

"Oh, what would you be then?" you ask surprised. People on a forensics course generally want to become forensic scientists, there's not much else you can do with that degree.

"I'd have to dress up as a policeman I suppose," considered Sherlock, "but to be precise I would like to be a Chief Inspector of Scotland Yard."

"Wow," was all you could say.

"Criminal minds fascinate me so I almost did forensic psychology, but I wanted to learn about chemical reactions and how to process evidence as well, because the only evidence you can really rely on is your own so I would need the skills to do so myself."

"And why a Chief Inspector at Scotland Yard in particular?" 

"I like to have control, and Scotland Yard get the most interesting cases." You both smile at Sherlock's arrogance.

Once again reaching the point where the two of you separate, you turn to him and try one last time to persuade him to come to the fresher's event.  
"Just consider it okay?" You say as you wave him goodbye and walk towards your flat. As you reach your room and empty your bag, you notice you have a text from an unknown number;

1 new message  
From: Sender Unknown  
I will think about it - SH


	4. Enchanted Ch 4

"Sarah, you ready yet? We need to go!" you hear Sima call from the hallway. Putting the finishing touches to your mascara, you slip on your white canvas shoes and leave your bedroom to see Sarah rummaging through the closet.

"Lost something?" you ask, as you drop your phone and purse into your black shorts pocket. 

"My heels, I can't find them. They're black with glitter on the stra- no, wait, here they are!" The said items then appear from the black of the closet and are quickly placed on Sarah's small feet. In her pin-stripped suit Sarah looked very smart and stylish. She had thick black framed glasses perched on the end of the nose and had two pens peeping out of her breast pocket, just like you. 

"Sima!" you yell down the corridor. You hear a 'just a sec' from her bedroom and then a few seconds later she appears, faffing with the belt she had made to hold all of her geologist equipment. True to her word, she had written 'geologist NOT builder' on the back of her yellow fluorescent jacket in permanent marker. It was probably for the best though, she really did look like a builder. She was wearing a plain white tshirt underneath the jacket and blue denim shorts, with gorgeous grey boots to finish off the look. No matter what she wears she always looked sexy, you think jealously as you glance down at yourself. 

"Ready?" The two of you nod at Sarah in reply so she opens the door and together the three of you make your way to the campus club.

Upon walking in through the oversized double doors, the first place your friends go to is the bar. Not liking the size of the crowd all pushing their way for drinks you glance around the dance floor, seeing all kinds of different people. Some clearly didn't want to be here and only came because of their friends, some having the time of their life, and some who would not be remembering anything tomorrow morning! From the bar you see Sima waving, trying to grab your attention. When you look at her she mimes to you in an extravagant way saying,

"Seats!" pointing towards the seated area. You nod to tell her you got the message and make your way to the area you have been directed to. Most of the sofas were taken, except one. The corner green leather sofa was occupied by a single person, looking extremely uncomfortable and out of place in his black suit and tie with a white shirt and a silver badge on his breast pocket. 

"Sherlock!" you screech as he stands, looking quite relieved that he no longer had to go through this hell on his own. Running over you throw your arms around him and embrace him in a tight hug, a surprise to yourself as much as to him. "You came!" You say as you awkwardly let him free of the hug.

"Yes... Well... You insisted," you beam a smile, "and Mycroft said he would get me some benzoic acid if I came to this ridiculous thing." You both sit back down.

"Mycroft?" you ask, not recognising the name.

"My brother, his name is Mycroft. I told you he likes to meddle in my life. He even got me this silly outfit." Sherlock looks down at himself in obvious disgust.

"Oh, I like it!" You say, running his tie through your fingers and then having a closer look at the badge he was wearing. "Chief Inspector... Nice!"

"I'm not sure forensic scientists wear shorts to work," teases Sherlock. 

"I've got my lab coat," to which you indicate, "that's enough! I also have this," you pull a small rectangular object from out of your pocket.

"What is it?" Sherlock asks. You hand it to him without saying anything, you know he will enjoy working it out for himself. As he examines it you slip off your lab coat, it's far too hot in this club to wear it. 

Sherlock lifts the object up to the poor light to try and get a better look at it, the concentration on his face is adorable and you smile unconsciously. 

It was a small grey rectangle with a raised circle just off centre with a split going down the middle of it, dividing the object in half. 

"Clearly you have to open it somehow," Sherlock mutters, more to himself than to you. At first he tries to open it the same way you open a book, but after tugging at it, it is obvious that is not the way to do it. But by doing this, the split in the middle of the plastic had widened slightly and Sherlock could now see you were supposed to pull each half in opposite directions. He did so as far as it could go and then laughed as he saw what it was. "A magnifying glass!"

"Yep," you say, quite pleased with yourself. "I've always wanted one, I think I annoyed my mum about it so she bought me it as a going to university present. It's really good quality, if you are in need of a magnifying glass for any of your cases you should get this one," you smile. Without warning Sherlock takes your hand and you jump at his touch, but he doesn't seem to notice as he begins to look at the tips of your fingers underneath the lens. 

"I didn't know you played the violin," he says looking up at you. Amazed at how he knew, you answer mechanically,

"I don't have lessons anymore but I still play it sometimes when I'm bored or stressed. How...?"

"Here you are!" calls a familiar voice, as Sarah and a sandy haired guy force you to shuffle over and make room for them. 

"Hey John," you wave and he nods in return. "Guys, this is Sherlock. Sherlock, this is Sarah and John." Sarah gives a quick hello to Sherlock and then gives you a wink. You pull a face at her, praying that Sherlock didn't see. "Where's Sima?"

"Where do you think? She spotted a nice group of boys hanging around the bar and thought it would be a good idea to go and join them." Sarah laughs and shakes her head at Sima's predictability.

"Thank god you're not like that," John says to Sarah. She smiles and him and plants a kiss on his lips. You drop your eyes, feeling like you are invading their personal space. Quickly you turn to Sherlock and ask the question you never finished asking.

"How did you know I played violin?" 

"The calluses on your hand indicates that you play a string instrument," he smiles as he hands you back your magnifying glass, "and I remember that when I saw you yesterday at the beginning of the lecture, the base of your chin was red, you must have had your violin pressed against it not long before that." Unconsciously you touch your chin and stare at Sherlock in amazement.

"A fast analytical brain..." You repeat aloud to yourself. If it wasn't for the poor lighting in the room, you could have sworn Sherlock blushed when you said that. 

"Come on, I want to dance!" Sarah announces as she grabs John by the arms and pulls him up onto his feet. "Beth?" Your eyes drift to the quiet being sitting next to you.

"You want to dance?" You ask awkwardly. Sherlock looked horrified at the thought!

"No, no! You've already got me into this costume, I am not dancing, not even for an endless supply of 2,4-dinitrophenolhydrazine! No... You go dance, I'll be fine." You turn back to Sarah.

"Erm, no thanks, I'm fine here. You two go have fun." The disappointment on Sherlock's face transforms into a genuinely surprised and innocent expression. Sarah sneaks another wink at you, to which you ignore, and then she and John leave you with Sherlock. 

"Why did you...?" he asked, pointing in the general direction of where Sarah and John went. 

"You are going to teach me how to do that thing you do."

"What do I do?"

"You know," you struggle to find the right words, but then it hits you, "deduce! Go on, tell me about some people in this room." Sherlock smiles and sits up straight and begins to survey the room, much more in his comfort zone. Your eyes sparkle with intrigue and you shift closer so that the two of you can whisper like children sharing secrets.

"Well, we can start with that girl over there..."


	5. Enchanted Ch 5

"Yew two haave beeeen-n natterin' away for aaaaages!" You look up in the direction of the voice to see a very drunk Sima clinging on to the torso of a very handsome young man. She could barely stand without the assistance of this guy.

"No we haven't, we've only been chatting for..." You check your mobile for the time. "Oh!" You and Sherlock had been talking for over two hours! It only felt like 15 minutes. Sherlock had given you a crash course in deduction. He had shown you how to spot a thief, a slut, and a user, as well as a closet artist and writer, someone with an OCD about cleaning, and a musician and the instrument they play. It was fascinating, Sherlock really was a genius.

"This is Jim," Sima announces, her words slurred.

"Beth," you introduce yourself as you shake his hand, trying to make yourself heard over the loud music still booming behind you.

"Hello," he replies, there is a noticeable Irish twang in his words which is always attractive. He looks expectantly at your companion.

"Sherlock," he says coolly, also shaking Jim's hand. 

"Come oooon Jim, let's daaaance! I w-wanna dance!" Sima was already pulling the poor boy to the dance floor when Sherlock says,

"I think we should probably take you back to your flat," he stands up and offers his hand to take her from Jim but she pushes it away. 

"No, I'm f-fine, I just want to daaance. Come on Jimmy." Sherlock's eyes shift from Sima to Jim, who stares back at him. 

"I'm not sure-"

"Ah you spoil sport!" interrupt Jim. Sherlock's cold expression doesn't change. "Don't worry Sherlock, I will look after her." He then places his arm around a gleaming Sima and leads her to the dance floor. 

"Your friend has had too much to drink," Sherlock says as he takes his seat back next to you, his eyes watching as Sima and Jim disappear down the stairs to the dance floor. 

"Oh she's always like this," you dismiss with a wave of your hand. Sherlock opens his mouth as if he was going to reply but then seems to change his mind and shut it again tightly. Silence hovers between the two of you until Sherlock unexpectedly stands up and turns to you, his fists clenched. 

"Well, I think I have endured this long enough."

"You're leaving?" You say, trying not to sound too disappointed.

"Yes. I think I've earned my chemicals. I have an experiment I need to check up on anyway." He begins to walk away from you so you stand up and chase after him. He hears you and turns round. 

"Well, I'm not going to stay here on my own!" You say in a reply to the questioning look on his face. "Sarah is with John and Sima has latched herself onto that poor Jim guy, I might as well go home too if I don't have you to talk to."

"Don't forget your lab coat," was Sherlock's only answer. Realising you weren't holding it, you jog back to the sofa you had left it on, pick it up, and then rush back to where Sherlock was standing. 

"Thank you," you grin as you slip your arm through his and walk out together. The coldness in his eyes dissolves into the warmth that was there at the beginning of the night. 

"Beautiful, isn't it?" you whisper, as you glance up at the night sky, enriched with bright white stars, lighting your path.

"Astronomy is a pointless subject," he states. You frown.

"Just because you don't understand something, or think you don't need to understand something, doesn't mean you can't appreciate it. Some things can just be beautiful."

"I think I am finding that out," murmurs Sherlock. 

You stop, you have reached the fork in the road where the two of you must say good night and separate. Sherlock turns to you, slowly you unlock your arm from his and drop it to your side. You are standing close now, your noses are almost touching. A smile dances on your lips and your heart is in your mouth as you imagine what his lips must taste like. Terrified you hold your breath and wait. 

"Good night." 

Your whole body deflates, broken. 

"What?" You whisper, but then you shake away your disappointment. "I mean, yes, s-see you Monday." You turn and quickly power walk back to your flat without waiting for Sherlock to reply. There could not have been a more romantic moment and yet he did nothing, he clearly wasn't interested, you were stupid for thinking he ever could be. You are suddenly aware of a dampness on your cheek - tears. You try and wipe them away with the palm of your hand but they keep on coming. Your pace quickens and as you reach your door you fumble with your keys, not getting into your flat fast enough. "Bloody thing," you mutter as the lock clicks and your door gives way. As soon as you enter your room you allow yourself to fall onto your bed and sink your face into the pillow, the tears you tried to hold back flowing at full speed now.

God. Damn. Him. You punch your pillow, trying to release some of this built up emotion. No, come on, it's not his fault. You're the one that made up this false fantasy. You were the one that thought this was possible. You were the stupid one. Now get over yourself! Through sheer will power alone you force your tears to stop. Drawing your favourite cushion close, a cream coloured one with blue embroidery, you wrap your arms around it and press your chin into it, hugging it tightly, and shut your eyes. You try and rest as you realise you are suddenly very tired, but all the voices in your head were refusing to let you sleep. Desperate to find something to shut them up with, you glance around your room. Your eyes settle on your violin. Begrudgingly rolling off your comfortable bed, you pick up your prized possession and rest it on your lap the way you would an cello and begin to pluck at the strings rhythmically. 

Knock, knock.

As you get up to answer the door you catch sight of your reflection in the mirror, you looked awful. Your make up had run everywhere and your eyes were red raw from your pathetic crying. Whoever was at the door could wait until tomorrow if they wanted to see you. Instead you pick up your bow and begin to play a melancholy tune on your violin. 

Knock, knock. 

Lost in your music, you begin to hum along to the tune you know so well, shutting your eyes and letting the music take you away from your humiliation. 

Knock, knock.

I am not here! Go away! You scream in your mind, not stopping your violin playing.

Knock, knock.

"This better be bloody important!" You shriek as you yank the front door open with more force than necessary. A very surprised and unsure Sherlock was standing there. Shut the door in his face, shut the door in his face! Don't let him see you like this! was the only advice your brain could give you. 

"Um... Hello."


	6. Enchanted Ch 6

Gripping tightly to the door and gritting your teeth behind a closed mouth you raise your eyebrows at the familiar face standing in front of you. 

"I knew it. You are angry with me." Sherlock didn't sound sorry or ashamed about this statement, just confused. 

"No I'm not, why would you think such a thing?" Sherlock goes to touch your face but you pull away, your lips curling slightly in disgust. 

"You have been crying." Your grip on the door tightens, which does not go unnoticed by Sherlock.

"No I have not." You speak very slowly and clearly to get your point across. "Now if you don't mind..." You try and shut the door but Sherlock jams his foot in the way, preventing the door from shutting properly. You swing the door open again and raise your eyebrows higher.

"You are mad at me."

"No I am not," you growl. A cheeky glint shines in his eye.

"Okay then, if you are not angry with me then let me in." He had got you there. Staring at him dumbfounded you try and decide which option you are going to take. If you shut the door in his face you will have proved him right and shown that you are mad at him, but if you let him in you would have to talk to him. Either way he would not cease to persist until he has solved the little puzzle of your mood. Sighing, you step aside and allow him access to your flat.

"In there," you indicate the door to your bedroom as you shut the front door but Sherlock still waits until you enter first, he was definitely brought up a gentlemen even if he doesn't exactly have people skills. You sit on your bed as Sherlock surveys the room from where he is standing. He briefly glances at your classical music CD collection. 

"I recognise some of these," he smiles to himself. Turning round again and looking about your room his eyes stop at the beautiful musical instrument that you had been playing moments earlier. He picks it up and runs his index finger down the strings, then holds the bow at eye level, inspecting it. "This is a very beautiful specimen."

"Do you play?"

"I had lessons as a child but I haven't played in years," he replies as he presses the violin against his chin like a pro. Slowly he drags the bow across one of the strings, letting the note hang in the air for a bit. Giving a half smile that makes your heart leap, he hands you your instrument. "Play me that piece you were playing a few minutes ago."

"No." The attractive smile on his face fades. 

"What did I do?" he asks, trace amounts of remorse in his voice.

"Nothing! You did nothing!" That was true, it was because he did nothing that you were upset. Sherlock sits down next to you on your bed. His eyes narrow as he begins to scrutinise you. He is deducing you! Do NOT give anything away!

"You were fine until after we left the party..." don't give anything away, "you seemed surprised when I said good bye, you were expecting something else..." Oh god he's almost there! Grabbing your violin you begin to play the tune he asked you to do and you were relieved to see in his face his thinking process freeze. 

"My mum-"

"Shh!" You freeze. "No I mean shut up so I can listen to you play you moron!"

"Oh," you giggle, as you pick up from where you left off. Sherlock was still wearing his costume so he obviously hadn't made it back to his flat before he turned up on your doorstep. Still smiling to your playing he slips off his jacket and folds it loosely on his lap. You notice a small object fall from the breast pocket. Coming to the end of the piece you let your violin rest on your lap and pick up what Sherlock had dropped. 

"A pipette? What is this for?" You thread the plastic object through your fingers, spinning it around until Sherlock quickly snatches it off of you, embarrassed. 

"It... It's nothing." He fiddles with it, clearly debating in his mind how much he should tell you. 

"One of your experiments eh?" you tease. Sherlock smiles as blood begins to rush to his pale face. 

"No... It... It was for you." He awkwardly hands it back to you.

"What?"

"I stole it from the labs, I thought it would go with your forensics costume." His cheeks are flushed bright red now. You are unable to stop yourself grinning like a madman. 

"For me? That's so sweet!" This was it, it was now or never. If you don't make the first move he never will. "Thank you." You throw your arms around him and then turn your head sideways and plant a soft kiss on his cheek. You feel Sherlock's body completely tense up. Awkwardly letting him go you avoid all possible eye contact and both of you say nothing. 

Out of the corner of your eye you see him get up and walk over to your CD collection. Scanning the shelf he pulls out one of your favourite's and places the disk delicately into the CD player. After he presses play he turns to you and holds out his hand.

"We never actually danced tonight did we?" The music had started to play, a slow beautiful piece that you loved to listen to when you felt lonely or homesick. You stare at him, an amused but confused smile on your face. Beckoning you to join him he says, "come on!" You continue to eye him questioningly, had he gone insane? Rolling his eyes Sherlock grabs you by the wrists and pulls you into your feet. Standing there you swing your arms slightly doing that awkward dance you only do in front of your best friends. "You know full well that's not how you dance to a piece of music like this," sighed Sherlock. 

"Oh really? Well how am I supposed to dance then Mr dance expert?" you tease and Sherlock pulls a face at you. 

"Like this..." Stepping forward Sherlock takes hold of your left hand in his and then wraps his other hand around your waist, pulling you towards him, until your bodies are almost touching. Giggling like a school girl and dropping your eyes you follow his lead and place your free hand on his shoulder. As you look at him, your eyes meet and lock into position, you are staring into each others souls as you slowly move around your bedroom floor. Neither of you are smiling any more, you are just watching each other, both of you nervous and afraid. Slowly, you move your head closer to his, your eyes on your target - his lips. But as your noses brush Sherlock pulls away, apologising immediately.

"I'm sorry... It's just... I've never done this before... I... I don't know what-" Taking Sherlock's bumbling face in your hands you interrupt,

"Sherlock, shut up!" and then, before he could resist, you bring your trembling lips together in the kiss you had desired for so long. It was incredible. Strings were knotting and untying themselves in the pit of your stomach and a dizziness overcomes you as the sweet scent of his shampoo fills your senses. Letting in go of his face and resting your hands on his shoulders you add a little extra pressure to seal the kiss. Smiling shyly as you pull away and screaming in your mind you give Sherlock time to react. After a stunned few seconds, a broad smile grows on his face and he leans forward for a second, more passionate kiss.


	7. Enchanted Ch 7

Stirring your tea the next morning, you sit at the table trying to work out if last night was a dream. Did it actually happen? Your internal screams are interrupted by the presence of a guest in your kitchen. 

"Oh, hey, sorry, Sima said I could help myself to some breakfast." It was Jim. He wandered over to the cupboard labelled 'Sima' and pulled out some cereal. You try not to stare at his bare, perfectly toned chest, because he had entered in only a pair of jeans so his top half was completely on show. 

"Of course," you stutter. "Where is Sima?"

"Getting dressed," he replied with a twinkle in his eye. You stop your brain from thinking any further about what that sentence meant. Sitting opposite you at the table he begins to munch on his coco pops, grinning an embarrassed smile as he notices you gaping at his chest. I wonder what Sherlock's chest looks like- brain! Honestly! Shut up! You tell yourself, ashamed of the path your mind has chosen to take. 

"Oh god, how can you eat anything?!" Grumbles a very hung over Sima. Deliberately exaggerating the next mouthful of food, Jim laughs as Sima throws his shirt at his head in return. Getting up and putting his bowl in the sink, he goes over to Sima and says,  
"I have to go, I'll call you okay?" Sima smiles a nod as Jim pecks her on the cheek and then leaves, passing Sarah as she enters the kitchen. 

"Who was that eh Sima?" she asks suggestively. Sima sighs in a 'why do you always think it's me' way but then sits down grinning. 

"Okay, it's gossip time." Making another cup of tea and some toast for the three of you, you all settle down around the small kitchen table ready to share last night's events. As always Sima goes first. "Well, I mingled with that group of guys you saw me with Sarah, and I liked the look of Jim, so I did a bit of flirting with him. We talked and got on so I asked him to dance. We talked to you for a bit Beth then we danced... I think," she pauses to rub her forehead, still not quite over her hangover yet, "and then when the club closed we came back here and..." She didn't need to finish off the sentence. A few encouraging nudges from you and Sarah made her giggle but you could tell she was still struggling with past experiences to let herself get her hopes up. "I don't know what he wants," she explains, "and I don't want to scare him away, but I don't want my heart broken again."

"At least he was still here this morning, unlike some you've dated before, and he definitely seemed interested still this morning, didn't he Beth?"

"Oh yeah definitely," you agree. Sima smiles more confidently now, perked up by your reassurances. "Well, what about you two then?"

"Ah nothing new there I'm afraid. Just me and John out for the evening. He walked me home like the gentlemen he is and then went home himself. Beth?" Your friends turn to you. Immediately you blush and begin to stutter as you try and get your words out. 

"Erm, so, yeah, well, the thing is, me and Sherlock kissed."

"What?!" they exclaimed together. Slowly you began to explain last night's events. Only stopping to slurp your tea and catch your breath, you tell the story of how Sherlock taught you to deduce all the way to the farewell kiss. As you finish Sima jumps on you screaming in your ear,

"Oh Bethy, I am so pleased for you!"

"Okay, can't breathe," you gasp as her tight hug crushes you. Her letting go gives Sarah a chance to give you an encouraging pat on the shoulder. Glancing at the clock you freak and down the rest of your drink and throw the cup in the sink, with the intention of washing it up later.

"What's up?" Sarah asks. 

"I'm meant to be at Sherlock's in an hour! I'm not even dressed!"

"Oh I'm sure he wont mind that." You throw a sideways glance at Sima as you rush out of the room to try and make yourself look presentable in the time you have left to get ready. 

Oh god I hope he doesn't mind me being late! You think as you knock on what you hope is his flat door. In an attempt to look your best for Sherlock, you had straighten your hair and it had taken longer than you had expected. Adding a layer of mascara to your eyelashes and throwing on one of your favourite dresses, you rushed out of the flat as fast as you could in the heeled boots you had chosen to wear. You hold your breath as a stranger opens the door.

"Um, hello."

"Hi, I'm here to see Sherlock."

"Sherlock?" repeats the stranger, who was now looking up and down at you, somewhat surprised. Please let this be the right flat. You nod nervously. Without taking his eyes off of you the stranger yells down the corridor behind him, "oi freak! You got a visitor!" As he says this one of the doors in the hallway opens and a mop of black curls pokes its head around it. Sherlock's eyes are narrow and hard but as he sees it's you they widen and soften. He walks to you with a smile.

"Thank you Carl," he says coldly. 

"Who's this then Sherly? Your nurse? You do realise he's insane don't you?" That last question was directed at you, and angry you don't respond with a verbal answer. Instead you grab Sherlock by the locks of his hair that your fingertips were yearning for and force a strong, passionate kiss on his delicious lips. 

"No. I am his girlfriend." Both of the guys stare at you shocked, one looking deflated, the other gleaming beyond belief. The guy now known as Carl retreats to his bedroom as you say to Sherlock, "who is that prick?" Not afraid if he heard you. 

"That is Carl. He is one of my flatmates."

"What a douche," was all you could say to sum up your feelings for this bloke that thought he could judge anyone without getting to know them. 

Sherlock leads you to his room and awkwardly gestures for you to enter the room he had appeared from a moment earlier. His room started much like every other student. A bed, desk, and wardrobe with an en suite in the corner. However, you wouldn't know with the state of Sherlock's room now. There were newspapers and books open everywhere, Petri dishes and flasks with god knows what in them. You could see why Mycroft's bribe of chemicals was enough to get Sherlock to go to the social yesterday. It is obvious that Sherlock had made an effort to clear the mess on his chair and bed so that there was somewhere for you to sit. "Wow," was all you could say as you perch yourself on the end of his bed and look at him. He still looks stunned. "What?"

"You... You said you were my girlfriend. Are you my girlfriend?" You bite your lip.

"I... After yesterday... I mean... If you don't want... Sorry I just..." Shut up just shut up! You tell your brain as you snap your mouth shut and break all eye contact with him. 

"No, I mean, you want to go out with me? I mean, you really want to go out with me?" Giving him a half smile you walk over to him and stroke his prominent, pale cheekbones. 

"You moron." You answer his stupid question with a delicate kiss. "Is that a Stradivarius?!" You screech as you notice Sherlock's violin out of the corner of your eye. 

"Um, yes." Dropping to your knees beside it, carefully avoiding anything that looked dangerous on the carpet, you hover your hand over the neck of the instrument and ask if you can pick it up. 

"You can play it if you like." Bringing your hands to your lips, you mouth 'thank you' and slowly and very carefully lift the instrument off of the ground. The way you handle it could have made people believe it was a new born baby! Taking the bow you gingerly place it on one of the strings and pull. The single note was magical, more crisp and angelic than you could possibly imagine. You begin to play the first tune that comes to your head, a piece by Mozart, before the excitement overwhelms you and you have to stop playing. Holding out the violin you ask Sherlock,

"Will you play for me?" Rather unsure of himself Sherlock takes the instrument from your hands, a lot more aggressively than when you picked it up and it makes you cringe to think he treats it so hap-hazardly. After fussing for quite a while he eventually begins to play the same piece you had just played. Well, he attempted to. It didn't exactly flow and it looks like Sherlock was focusing on getting the notes right rather than the rhythm and the timing. Unable to watch such a precious item being tortured like that you jump in to try and save it. "Lift your head slightly, and hold the bow like this." In turn you correct his fingering and posture until he looked like a true professional. You then stand behind him, your bodies touching, and place your hand on top of his on the bow and show him how he should be playing. Although you are certain he isn't paying attention because his eyes were transfixed on your face the whole time. 

Eventually you couldn't take it any longer and you burst into a fit of giggles. "Oh I give up! You clearly don't want to learn how to play it." You stand in front of him with your hands on your hips.

"That's not true, this lesson has been great fun!"

"Maybe, but you haven't actually learnt anything have you?"

"Oh I don't know," he murmurs as he places the violin under his chin once more and has another attempt that the piece. It was definitely better than the first attempt, but better doesn't always mean good. "How was that?" he asks as he puts the violin down.

"Well..." You tease.

"Hey!" Without warning he wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto his bed with him so that you are laying side by side, foreheads touching. Brushing part of your fringe out of your eye he whispers, "I will practise, I promise."


	8. Enchanted Ch 8

"Happy anniversary!" you sing as you give your boyfriend a quick kiss before entering his flat. You and Sherlock have been dating for 6 months now and you have loved every second of it. He has kept you sane during those long, dull lectures, and you are almost certain some of his deductive skills have rubbed off on you. Sitting on his bed you produce a poorly wrapped gift, because you did it this morning in a hurry, and hand it to Sherlock. His blank face isn't a surprise to you. "Don't worry, I didn't expect you to remember. But that doesn't mean I can't still get you something," you tell him. Without saying a word Sherlock peels off the wrapping paper to reveal what was underneath. 

"A scarf!" Immediately he put it on, brushing his fingers over the soft, dark blue fabric. 

"Thought it would suit you," you smile, proud of your buy. You had noticed how he tended to pull the collar of his coat up when he got cold, and you had said numerous times he needed a scarf, so it seemed like the perfect gift!

"Thank you," he says as he pecks you on the cheek. Sherlock then starts to rummage around underneath his bed. He's braver than I am! you think to yourself, trying not to think about what kind of radioactive items that could be under there. 

"What are you doing?"

"You honestly thought I would forget?" he asks as he pulls out a small (perfectly wrapped of course) box, about the size of the palm of your hand. Thrilled that he remembered you squeal and throw your arms around him. 

"Thankyouthankyouthankyou!" A small chuckle passes through his lips.

"Open it then!" Ripping off the paper you find a leather box underneath. Slowly you ease off the lid and gasp. Perched on the centre of the box was a very expensive looking necklace. The pendant consisted of a dark blue stone set in solid silver, oval in shape. The silver was moulded into a swirling pattern that framed the gem stone that was the exact colour of your eyes that Sherlock often complimented you on. The whole thing hung on a delicate silver chain, that glistened as the light bounced off of it. 

"It's beautiful," you whisper, still in awe of the object now resting in the palm of your hand. Without needing to be told Sherlock takes the necklace from you and drapes it around your neck, clicking the fastening shut. He kisses the nape of your neck before you turn around and smile at him, almost in tears. 

"It's just a necklace Beth, no need to cry on me!" he jokes.

"No, it isn't just a necklace." You don't explain any further, but you know he understands. "Play for me please." He sighs but still gets up and extracts his violin from it's case. You ask him this every time you are within a 20 metre reach of a violin. He kept his promise, and now he can play better than you and your years of practise, and you love to lose yourself in his talent. You also have noticed how he plays it when he needs to think, not properly, but he would pluck at the strings subconsciously whilst being a million miles away. 

"What do you want me to play?"

"Surprise me," was your normal answer. Rolling his eyes, he places the magical instrument to his chin and was about to start when you hear a knock at the door. Sherlock doesn't appear to register it and begins to play some Beethoven. "Is someone at the door?"

"Someone else can get it." You pull a disapproving face at Sherlock but then hear someone walking down the corridor and open the front door. "See." You poke your tongue out at the gloating Sherlock and he laughs in return, but you still feel uneasy. You can hear the voices in the hallway, 2 men, too old to be students surely. As if your suspicions are being confirmed you hear every bedroom door be knocked on and a yell from one of the housemate saying,

"Everyone, the police are here, they want to speak to all of us." Sherlock stops playing and gets up, looking through the peep hole that every door in this place has. Opening the door and looking down the corridor you see by the change in his facial expression that he has seen the policemen. With a hand gesture he beckons you to him. Taking his hand you walk behind him as he leads you to the kitchen, which is the flat's communal area. Sitting down, you, Sherlock, and 2 other housemates stare at the guests. You were right, 2 men, middle aged, looking very professional and deadly serious. The shorter, stouter one spoke first.

"3 hours ago your housemate Carl Powers was found dead in the local swimming pool." A few gasps were made. "We believe he had some kind of fit in the pool and drowned. A tragic accident but we want to ask you a few questions anyway. Routine." One of the housemates, Holly, started sobbing. You wanted to put your arm around her but you were in too much shock to function properly. You had already noticed Sherlock's grip on your hand had tightened. "Do any of you know what time the deceased left this morning?"

"Carl! His name was Carl!" Burst out Holly. She apologised immediately and placed her head in her hands. 

"About half past 8," answered Sherlock. The second officer was taking down notes in a small black notebook. 

"Did you see him sir?"

"Yes." Sherlock's voice was hard, you knew what that meant, Carl had made some kind of snide comment at Sherlock this morning and it had hurt. Sherlock wasn't as thick skinned as he liked to make out. 

"Did he say anything about what he planned to do that day to you?"

"No, but I could tell by his bag that he was going swimming."

"Right, thank you." The second officer stopped scribbling. Sherlock looked almost disappointed that the officer didn't ask how Sherlock could tell by Carl's bag that he was going swimming. I bet it was a waterproof draw string bag, and he could see the outline of goggles bulging out of the side you think to yourself. "That will be all I think, if one of you could just show us to Mr Power's room-"

"I will," jumped up Sherlock.

"Thank you sir. Okay, thank you for your time everyone." The first officer, clearly the senior of the two, nodded to the rest of you, telling you that you were free to go, and then left with Sherlock. Unsure of what to do, you decide to wait back in Sherlock's bedroom. Only a few moments after you sat down, Sherlock comes storming in and proceeds to punch his wardrobe angrily. 

"Hey, hey, hey, shh!" You try to calm him down by hugging his shoulders and running your fingers through his hair. He takes a deep breath and turns to you, a fire burning in his eyes you hadn't seen before. 

"Don't you think it is strange?"

"What?"

"People don't just have seizures out of the blue! Carl had no medical condition that would induce them. It doesn't make sense!" He punched his wardrobe one more time before sinking into his chair, rubbing his temples. 

"Have you told the police this?"

"Yes, I told the police my suspicions, that I don't have a brain like other people, that I notice things, and that I study forensic science, so I offered my services."

"And?"

"He said that they don't need some excitable amateur getting in the way of his case. That it was a tragic accident and that I should be mourning the death of a friend."

"I'm sorry," you say, sitting on his lap and twisting his curls around your index finger. 

"Carl didn't have friends, just followers. He was nasty to almost everyone. He laughed at them."

"Are you saying he was murdered?" you asked, shocked.

"No, I'm just saying... It's odd."


	9. Enchanted Ch 9

"Here." A steaming cup of hot tea is placed under your nose and gratefully you wrap your cold fingers around it. Sarah sits down opposite you at the kitchen table and her sympathetic eyes calm your aching heart. "Tell me." Running your fingers through your hair, you shake your head and mutter,

"It's nothing." A knowing smile on her lips tells you she isn't fooled. 

"What did he do?" You say nothing at first, but your change in posture is enough to confirm her suspicions that Sherlock was the cause of this anxiety. 

"It's just," you feel yourself deflate, shoulders drooping and your spine curve as you use your hand to prop up your head as if it was too heavy to hold itself, "I haven't heard from Sherlock for days. I went round his house on Saturday like I always do, but I haven't seen him since then. He hasn't turned up for lectures, he hasn't replied to my calls or texts, and after what happened with Carl, well, I'm worried about him."

"I'm sure he is fine. We all know Sherlock doesn't exactly do what we see as normal, this is probably just one of his things."

"Maybe I should check up on him, just to-"

"Stop worrying! What happened to Carl was an accident, the police said so. Sherlock probably just ill or something."

"But he would have texted me, surely?" You had gone through all of the possibilities of why Sherlock was being allusive and none of them seemed likely. Sherlock doesn't get ill. He may have gone away, a family emergency or something. You hadn't met any of Sherlock's family, and Sherlock didn't like to talk about them much, but the little you did hear sounded very much like what Sherlock had told you when you first knew each other. His mother was overprotective, his father uninterested in his son's life, and Mycroft controlling and allusive. But of course, this was all coming from Sherlock himself, and he tended to be a little dramatic. 

Slamming the palm of your hand down onto the table and making Sarah jump, you say decisively, "if he doesn't come to our lectures tomorrow then I am going to his flat and making sure he is okay. End of."

The next day comes and once again you are searching through a crowd of potential forensic scientists trying to find a mass of black curly hair and ice blue eyes that makes your heart flutter every time they look at you. But you cannot see them. You check your phone once more in the hope that he has texted you a reason for his absence. No such luck. 

That's it, I have to make sure he is okay. But what if he thinks I'm being needy or overprotective? No, I can't go. But what if he has hurt himself? I have to make sure. Stop it, he isn't a child... Well... I will just knock on his door and casually remind him that he is supposed to be at these lectures if he has any hope of passing these exams, and then I will leave.

You have this argument with yourself all the way through your lecture, something about DNA replication, and even as you walk up the path to Sherlock's flat you weren't sure if you should knock on the door. It was like there was an angel and a devil on your shoulders, each whispering in your ear, and you were in the middle not sure which one you should listen to. You pause as you raise your hand to the door, surely you are over reacting? Before you have a chance to answer your own question, the door swings open and Holly almost walks straight into you.

"Oh sorry! Hey, you here for Sherlock?"

"Hi, yeah." She leans closer and whispers in your ear.

"I think there is something going on with him. I hadn't seen him since Saturday, and then yesterday some guys in his mid twenties, all business like, visited him. Gave me the creeps." So something was wrong with him, was he in trouble?

"Yes well I'd better..." 

"Oh of course!" The two of you switch places so that you are standing in the doorway and she is on the path. "Good luck," she waves as she makes her way to her destination - a lecture by the looks of how packed that bag is with books, you decide. Shutting the door behind you, you make your way to Sherlock's bedroom. 

You knock. 

And again. 

"Sherlock?" You hear a shuffle from the other side of the door before it opens. Sherlock looked awful, tired and frustrated. 

"Hey, are you o-"

"What do you want?" You look at him stunned. 

"I... I just wanted to make sure you were okay, you've not turned up to any of your lectures this week or replied to any of my texts, I was worried."

"I'm fine." Sherlock had never been this cold to you, and you were not about to let him get away with it. Whatever was going on, you were going to find out.

"Can I come in?"Sherlock considered for a moment before stepping aside and allowing you access to his bedroom. He considered, he actually had to consider before letting you in! You spin round on your heel so that you are facing him. "What is going on with you?" you snap.

"Shoes," he replies absentmindedly. 

"Shoes?" He is insane. That's what's happened. He has actually gone insane.

"His shoes, yes!" Seemingly ignoring you Sherlock picks up a beige folder from his desk and takes it to his bed, where he lays down on his back, shutting his eyes and presses the folder to his forehead, as if he was reading the contents telepathically. 

It is at this point that you notice the state of his room. The wall where the notice board should have been was completely covered in newspaper cuttings, maps, photographs, and scribbled notes, each piece of information linked together with the use of a yellow string, pinned down using drawing pins and blue tack. As you take a closer look you read some of the headlines of the articles that Sherlock had carefully cut out and pinned to the wall.

Boy drowned in local pool. 

Tragic accident for student.

Death of Carl Powers deemed tragic accident.

Police close case for local drowning. 

"Carl..." The sound of his name barely passes through your lips, but it was enough to make Sherlock open his eyes and get up, where he starts to pace the room, muttering to himself.

"It doesn't make sense... Why? I don't understand!" You trace your fingers over the photograph of Carl that had been printed with the Times article, as you look at the rest of the images on the wall. 

"Sherlock? Is this... Is that the pool Carl... He drowned in?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock finally stops and looks directly at you, suddenly aware that you are in the room. There is an anger in his eyes that you have never seen before, it scares you. 

"Sherlock, are you okay?"

"It's those shoes! It would all be fine if it wasn't for those shoes!"

"What shoes? What are you talking about?" You try to ease him to a chair but he resists and begins pacing again. 

"His shoes! Where did they go?" He rolls his eyes at your puzzled look. "When they found Carl, his clothes, his possessions, everything was found in his locker at the swimming pool, except for his shoes. Where did they go? They don't just walk off on their own!" 

"How do you know this?" you ask. Sherlock hands you the folder in his hand, to which you open and begin to read what is on the first page. Scene Of Crime Report: Carl Powers, Drowning. "Where did you get this?" you ask, horrified.

"My brother. He will get me anything I want, but only if I ask him for it. Normally I find other means to get it, but this was too important. Carl's death just didn't make sense, I needed to know exactly what happened, even if it was just to settle this feeling in the pit of my stomach. But reading that report just opened up more questions. Ah!" Strutting over to his makeshift crime scene board, he begins to go over everything he has collected over the past few days related to the case. 

"So are you saying he was murdered?"

"I believe there was a second party involved in his death, yes." You gasp in shock.

"What are you going to do?"

"I don't know. I need to work out what happened, beyond reasonable doubt, before I can go to the police about it, and I cannot do that unless I have complete silence and am undisturbed!"

Sensing that you were not wanted, which hurt a lot, you walk over to the door and murmur,

"Well I guess I will go then." With a wave of his hand, Sherlock dismisses you and you turn to leave. "Oh, will you be coming to our lecture tomorrow?" Sherlock makes a 'pfft' noise. Swallowing a lump in your throat and praying your voice doesn't break, you say, "you are probably over-thinking it. Come to the lecture tomorrow, you never know, the break might do you some good. You will work it out Sherlock, I know you will." Sherlock had heard the tremor in your voice and had looked at you, gazing deep into your hurt soul, the warmth missing from his eyes returned momentarily. He walks over and stands by your side, kissing your cheek. Forcing down sobs you whisper, "I'm just glad you are okay." 

Like the gentlemen he was, Sherlock walks you to the front door and opens it for you. You take a step out.

And then freeze, before darting back inside and half closing the door behind you so that you are looking through the crack between the door and the wall. 

"Beth, what are you-"

"Shh!"


	10. Enchanted Ch 10

Pressing your finger against Sherlock's lips you watch through pierced eyes something that you almost wished you hadn't. It was Jim, Sima's so called boyfriend, fooling around with some blonde busy body behind another one of the flats. He had her backed up against the brick wall and he was brushing his nose up and down her neck as she gasped in pleasure. Not wanting to watch any more you shut the door and look distantly dumbfounded and disgusted. 

"That bastard!" You exclaim, "that bloody bastard!" You punch the wall. "That was Jim, you know Sima's boyfriend, snogging the face off of some random girl that needs to keep her hands off other people's boyfriends! I have the right mind to-" You open the door in a fit of rage, ready to confront the two-timer but Sherlock pushes the door shut as quickly as you pull it open. He said nothing, but looked at you with his dreamy eyes in a knowing way. Taking a deep breath you drop your hand away from the handle and slide against the door until you are sitting with your knees up on the floor. You rest your head on your arm. "Sima is going to be devastated. How am I supposed to tell her?" You rub your eyes and then the rest of your face as if you had just woken up from some sort of dream. 

"Don't."

"What?" You freeze, eyes on Sherlock.

"Don't tell her. If you think it will hurt her then don't tell her." You were standing up in his face now, directing your anger at him.

"How could I not tell her? They have been dating for 6 months!" Your arms were flying everywhere, as you exaggerate your expressions.

"Yes, and he has been cheating on her for at least 5." It takes you a few seconds to process this information.

"I'm sorry what?"

"I have seen him with a different girl almost every few weeks for the past 5 months." You stare at him, the information still not going in.

"You've seen him..."

"Yes."

"...cheating on Sima..."

"Yes."

"...for the past 5 months..." You take another deep breath in. "And you didn't think to tell me?" 

"It was none of my business what he got up to, and to be honest I didn't care."

"Sima is one of my best friend, did you not think I should know? That she should know?" You were breathing hard now, fuming.

"As I said, it was none of my business." You rub your forehead, unable to express the fury you were feeling. Sherlock was standing in front of you, his eyes shining blue with innocence.

"Oh I could scream at you sometimes!"

"I... I don't understand..." Rolling your eyes you attempt to explain through gritted teeth.

"5 months ago Sima and Jim were just dating, they weren't too serious. She is in love with him now, she will be heartbroken." Sherlock throws his head back, clearly not impressed with your explanation.

"Oh love doesn't really exist, it is just a series of chemical reactions that go off in the brain. Humans like to make it sound like this magical thing that your life should revolve around, really it's-"

"It's what?" You interrupt, staring at him in silence, all anger and colour drain from your body. "So every time you've told me you loved me it meant nothing?" You whisper, truly hurt.

"No... No that's not what I-"

"So it is different for us, is it?"

"Well, yes."

"Uh huh, why?" You place your hands on your hips and raise your eyebrows at him, intrigued on how Sherlock intended to dig his way out of this one.

"Because I... We..." Biting back tears you shake your head as you make a dramatic exit out of the flat. You hear Sherlock call your name as you feel a trickle of water run down your cheek and drip off your chin. You don't turn around.

You had never walked so fast back to your flat. You immediately charge into your room and let yourself go, crying loudly into your pillow. You hear a knocking on your bedroom door and a very timid Sarah and Sima enter.

"Hey, hey, hey, what's up?" Sarah lifts up your head so that she can sit down and let you rest your head on her lap. She strokes your hair and hushes you to calm your sobs. It was a trick she had learnt a long time ago, and it was very effective.

"I think I just broke up with my boyfriend," you say, only just realising that that was what you had done.

"What? Why?"

"Oh god Sima, I have to tell you something." You sit up and take her hand, feeling sick at the thought of what you have to tell her. God damn him, god damn Sherlock! Why couldn't he have told me earlier? "It's Jim, he is cheating on you." Sima's eyes drop to her lap.

"How... How do you know?" She murmurs.

"I saw him with some ditzy blonde as I was leaving Sherlock's." It hurt to say his name. Sima nodded, still not making eye contact with you. She swallowed hard.

"I wondered. He has been getting more distant lately. I've asked him before if he was cheating on me, but he denied it so strongly that I believed him. But it nagged at the back of my mind. Thank you for telling me."

"Honey there is more." You take her other hand as well and she waits expectantly. "He has been cheating on you basically from the beginning of your relationship with god knows how many girls. Sherlock was ignorant enough to not think is a good idea to tell me the first time he saw Jim with another girl." You feel Sima's grip on your hand tighten. "Sima I am sorry, I am so sorry." Sima looks away from you , but you don't miss the water in her eyes. Your heart breaks for her.

Sarah, on the other hand, was furious.

"So what are you saying? Sherlock knew? For how long?"

"About 5 months." You whisper to try and save Sima from more hurt and betrayal. "Apparently Jim would bring home a different girl almost every week." Sarah make a goldfish expression, opening and closing her mouth, unable to think of anything to say. "He then proceeded to tell me that love meant nothing to him, it was just some stupid chemical reaction in the brain, and I walked out. So I think I just broke up with my boyfriend," you shrug. You can feel the lump in your throat again and you bite your lip to try and suppress the tears as you realise that you had decided to end it with Sherlock. 

"Oh my girlies," Sarah sits herself between the two of you and puts her arm around you both. The three of you sit in silence, holding each other, it was reassuring to know that your friends were always there for you. At least friendship wasn't just a chemical reaction in the brain.

*

You were deliberately late to your lecture the next day, everyone had already taken their seats in the lecture hall and were waiting for the chemistry lecture to begin. Sherlock had returned from the darkest corners of his room to actually attend this lecture. He was sitting in your usual seats, the far right at the back. When you enter the hall you see him sit up straight, he's seen me looking at him. You try and look away as you take a seat on the complete opposite side of the room - on the left hand side of the room. 

You were grateful you had sat at the front because it meant Sherlock was completely out of your line of vision and so saved you from catching his eye. You did your best to concentrate but every few seconds you would wonder if he was looking at you. You could feel his eyes burning the back of your head, but you were probably being paranoid. 

At the end of the lecture you begin to panic. Would he come and try to talk to you? You take advantage of being at the front as you dart out of the theatre before Sherlock has a chance to get to the bottom of the steps. Then, instead of heading for the exit, you walk further into the building and out the other side. Only then did you permit yourself to turn around and see if you had been followed. As far as you could tell, you hadn't. 

Walking back to your flat, a trip significantly longer than if you had left through the normal exit, you try to ignore the headache forming on your forehead. You rummage through your bag looking for paracetamol and your keys as you see an unwanted guest on your doorstep. Sherlock. You could hardly ignore him, but you didn't want to talk to him either. He was fiddling with his scarf, surely it was too warm to be wearing that now? 

You rub your eyes with your fore finger and thumb, praying the signs of redness had gone down as you spent most of the night taking out your emotions on your defenceless pillow. 

You breathe giving yourself a moment to gain your composure. Knowing yourself too well you knew you would either break down or attempt to punch his face off, and you would regret both of those options. 

Sighing you walk up to him and say in a monotone voice,

"I have nothing to say to you."


	11. Enchanted Ch 11

You walk to your door and turn the key in the lock. Eyes to the floor, you order yourself. But Sherlock is having none of it.

"Then listen, just listen to me." He grabs you by the shoulders and forces you to face him. You try and shrug him off but he is reluctant to let go. Giving up, he always was stronger and more persuasive than you, you look at him expectantly. "I didn't mean it like that. You and I, well, we are different to Sima and Jim, we are special. Sima will only ever have disfunctional relationships and Jim was only ever going to use her. You..." He trailed off, he was never any good at expressing his emotions, it was sweet really, but it did make things like this difficult and awkward for the both of you. He sighed. "Look, Jim is a user, you could tell that by looking at him, he was only ever going to break her heart." You just keep digging yourself a bigger hole, don't you, you think to yourself.

"Is that why you were so cold to him at the club that night? Because you could tell what he was?" You push his hands off of you with more force than you intended and you could see in his expression he was surprised. "And you didn't even think to tell me then?" He started to get defensive.

"It was none of my business. I expected it to just be a one night thing, you said it was normal behaviour for Sima."

"So when it became clear that it wasn't a casual one off thing you thought...?" You left him to finish the sentence, waiting impatiently for what poor excuse he was going to come up with this time.

"I didn't want to get involved, I have got involved in other people's relationships before and they haven't ever appreciated it." You could feel your blood boil again. 

"This wasn't some random stranger on the street Sherlock, this was my best friend!"

"It was none of my business," he repeated. That was the tipping point for you. You pull your fingers into a fist around your ears in frustration. Why was it so hard for him to understand human nature?

"God Sherlock you are such a... a freak!" 

You regret speaking the moment the sound passes through your lips, but it was already too late. Sherlock shuts his gaping mouth and stands up straight, trying to savour what dignity he felt he had lost. "No, I'm sorry," you say sincerely, "I think you are brilliant, you are a genius." You take his hurt face in your hands. He pulls away at first, but as you force eye contact with him, he surrenders to your touch. You brush the bit of hair that was getting in the way of Sherlock's beautiful eyes to the side, and then half smile at him. "You and your fast analytical brain will be Scotland Yard's biggest asset and I know that one day you will solve Carl's," you force yourself to say the word, because as much as you had denied it, you knew it to be true, "murder." Sherlock hangs his head, he can see where this is going. 

"I am not going to work for the police anymore, if they can't see that Carl was murdered then I don't want to be seen working for them." This small talk you was sure was Sherlock's way of trying to stop you from saying what has to be said. "I am going to go private. When the police are out of their depth, which apparently is always, they will consult me."

"A sort of consulting detective," you smile, and Sherlock smiles in return. But behind those smiles was a definitive sadness, because the two of you knew what was going to happen next, and it had to be you to do it. "Sherlock, I know you will be amazing at your made up job, but-" Sherlock clasps your hand in his.

"I am sorry for what I said, and I am sorry for not telling you about Jim. So please, please can we just go back to where we were?"

"I can't." You remove your hand from his and drop your eyes. "Every time you tell me you love me, or every time I tell you, a voice in the back of my mind will be going 'this means nothing to him, he doesn't believe in love, he is lying to you.' For all I know I could just be an experiment to you."

"But you're not!" He pleaded. 

"How can I know that?" You were getting teary eyed, this was so hard! Why was it so hard?

Standing on tip toes, you place a delicate kiss on Sherlock's forehead, he leans into it, scrunching his eyes closed in pain. "I'm sorry I just can't," was all you could say. You couldn't say the words, you just couldn't. 

It's over.

You turn and enter your flat, shutting the door behind you before you change your mind. Just don't think about it, just don't think about it, you say to yourself over and over again. But as you enter your room you realise it will be harder to get over Sherlock than you think. The few photos Sherlock had allowed you to take of the two of you immediately catches your eye. In an explosion of emotion you tear all four down from your wall, turn over your favourite framed photo of the two of you and collapse on your bed in tears. You seemed to be doing a lot of that lately. I will have to get rid of my desktop background as well, you think as you remember the photograph you had used for your computer.

You punch your pillow. Now come on, stop feeling sorry for yourself. You knew this was going to happen, get over yourself! Desperate to distract yourself from the pain you glance around your room for something to do. I can't turn on my computer, not yet. Sighing you take out your books and begin to lose yourself in the study of blood spatter. 

Over the next few days you work harder than you have ever worked before. You get all your assignments done and you write up all your notes for most of your lectures. After a painful day of trying to avoid Sherlock's glances in class, you return home and go through everything you had learnt that day, as well as making extra notes from the textbook. This becomes your routine, at first Sarah and Sima are worried about you, they never seem to see you, you disappear into your room evening after evening. But slowly they begin to accept that this is your way of dealing with everything, and it was better than getting lost in drugs or alcohol which is what some people do. They just leave you to do what you have to do to get through every day.

Days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into years. Before you know it, you are standing in the city cathedral graduating from your course with a first. You had locked Sherlock behind a door in your mind and thrown away the key. 

You had moved on.


	12. Enchanted Ch 12

"Batch number 43?" Called a short fat delivery man from the corridor that clearly wanted to go on his lunchbreak. 

"Over here please." You indicate the table next to your work space as you sign the relevant papers. Out of the corner of your eye you can't help but examine the stranger in front of you. Drag queen. He leaves so you are able to open the package. It contained the blood samples that you needed to process today. 65% had 'URGENT' written on them. They are always urgent, you think. 

Taking out the first bottle you take a small amount of the blood and begin testing. Sadly you were unable to get a job in forensic science so instead you began working in a pharmaceutical lab, testing the blood of patients for whatever the doctors are looking for, e.g. diseases or medication. Not very thrilling but you enjoyed it. And there was one way to make it entertaining…

This particular sample wanted you to check that the medication this person was taking was sufficient. Now how can I make that more interesting? I know! 

Scenario: Someone has committed mass murder, taking a gun out on the street and murdering anyone that walks by. They are trying to plea temporary insanity as the defendant stopped taking his medication before the incident. The blood sample will prove or disprove his statement.

Proud of your creation you leave blood sample 1 to separate in the machine and you continue with blood sample 2.

*

"Hey Beth." You had prepared 7 blood samples for testing now, cleared 3 samples of diseases, and sadly found HIV in one more.

"Oh hey Freddie." Freddie was one of the other scientists that worked in the same lab as you. He had become the big brother you never had, always one you could talk to or ask for help, or just to have a laugh with. You were still in touch with your friends from university, but it wasn't easy as Sarah is now the head of her own successful PA business and so had very little free time, and Sima had married a guy called Sam Tyler not long after you graduated. Both you and Sarah had advised her against it as you didn't trust him; he was controlling and sometimes even scary! There was a sincere glint in his eye whenever you talked to him. And you decided you were right when you noticed that Sima started to go out less and less, saying,

"Oh Sam wants me to do this for him," or "I have plans with Sam today," her excuses always had something to do with Sam. She hadn't been hurt physically by him but emotionally you could see that she was getting more and more depressed and repressed. But she refused to see it, she insisted that she loved Sam with all her heart and he would never do anything like that so there was nothing you or Sarah could do. You did your best to keep an eye on her until one day Sam forced her to move to Scotland with him, where they knew no one, and now you were lucky to hear from her once a month! You prayed constantly that she was safe and did your best not to think about the worst things that could happen. 

"Someone wants to see you at the front desk. I will finish up here for you." Freddie takes the clipboard from you.

"Ah cheers. Who is it?" He shrugs with a smile. You roll your eyes at his deliberate refusal to give you a hint. As you pack away your stuff you say, "can you let me know the results, a man's murder charge hangs in the balance." 

"Oh, so someone is being accused of murder today are they?" He said with an amused grin, Freddie knew all about your scenarios, sometimes he even joined in, so a comment like that was not unusual. 

"First degree murder versus insanity plea." He raises his eyebrows and makes an 'ooooh' sound which you can't help but laugh at. "Shut your face Freddie!" You tease as you wave goodbye and meet your mystery guest. 

You weren't really sure what you were expecting when Freddie told you that you had a visitor, but a woman in expensive suit fussing on her phone wasn't exactly what you would expect in a pharmaceutical lab. A lawyer perhaps? No, she isn't carrying a briefcase or papers of any kind. She definitely wasn't a scientist. 

"Miss Howard?" The woman looked up as she heard your footsteps.

"Yes that's me. How can I help?" You reply with a smile. She does not return it.

"Could you come with me please?" She didn't wait for a reply. Feeling inferior you obey your orders and follow this stranger to a black car on the road outside. "Please." She indicates the back seat. You hesitate; you have no intention of being kidnapped.

"Freddie has seen me, and he knows what you look like, if I don't return to work he will know-"

"Get in the car Miss Howard." Her confidence silences you. Slipping into the back seat you note there is already a man in the driver's place. There is a hearing aid-like object in his ear and a Blackberry sticking out of his pocket. Surely this can't be a secret service of some kind?

The car remains where it is. The woman turns around and faces you; you hadn't seen her get in the front passenger seat. She addresses you so formally you almost feel as if you have to restore the balance by acting ridiculously friendly.

"Miss Howard, my boss would like to offer you a job."

"What?" You choke out the words, that was not what you were expecting!

"We have been monitoring your progress and decided you would be the perfect candidate to take my place in the service."

"Your place?"

"Yes, I am expecting you see and I have decided to resign and become a housewife. My boss has asked me to find someone appropriate quickly and efficiently and looking at your file I think you would be perfect. You will of course need training but that has been arranged for you. And you will be getting a considerable sum, much larger than the one you are currently receiving." You stare at her, stunned. Why would anyone want to offer you a job? You were just a measly scientist that stares at blood all day!

"I'm sorry, what is the job exactly?" She smiles a crooked smile.

"My boss likes to call it 'Superwoman Who Is Able To Do Anything At A Moment's Notice But Always To Perfection'. The professional name for it I suppose is Personal Assistant."

"I am a scientist," you state. It sounded about a million miles away from what you wanted to do. "I have a friend who owns a PA company, perhaps-"

"Sarah Baker, I know. She will be the one who will give you the six months training you need to be able to do this job." You still look unimpressed, although now you were slightly surprised about the involvement of an old friend. "You want to be a forensic scientist, yes?" You nod slowly, afraid of how much this woman knows about you. "Well, this job lets you do so much more than just process crime scenes. It involves criminals you wouldn't dream of! Masterminds, disturbed men, the worst of side of human nature. And you get to be a part of the team that puts these people behind bars." You could see that she loved her job, and she did make a very good case. "As you may have guessed, I work for the government. I can't tell you which part just in case you don't take this job." She smiles a knowing grin. "But I can tell by the glint in your eye that you will."

*

You had taken to your job like a fish to water, you absolutely loved it! And you couldn't deny that the money wasn't bad either. It was good to see Sarah again, and her crash course in personal assistant-ing had prepared you well. You had started off working under the woman – who you now knew to be called Kathy – and she kept an eye on you to make sure you were doing everything right. Then, when she left to have her baby, it was all down to you. You were nervous at first but as the days went by you got more and more confident and soon your boss had as much faith in you as he did his previous PA. 

*

"Meetings?" Pulling out your phone you list the meetings your boss has this evening. He listens quietly with pouted lips until you come to the end. "Good, good." He paused. "Cancel them. I have a very important, very urgent meeting I must attend."

"The Prime Minister has been badgering me for weeks for an appointment with yo-" He waves your protests away with his hand. You finger the necklace you were wearing – that you always wore – nervously, you didn't like questioning your boss. It had become a habit you couldn't seem to shake. The smooth blue stone was always a comfort to you as it felt so nice under your skin. 

"I am sorry but it is unavoidable. Operation Raven has had developments and I must speak to a person involved." You bow your head in defeat. You had heard him speak of Operation Raven before, but he never told you explicitly what it was, just that it was important to him and so it overrules everything and everyone. "I also have a few jobs for you to do, could you give this," he hands you a brown envelope, "to the men in office 432 and then take the car with the driver to this address," he hands you another slip of paper with the said address written on it. "Wait for our guest to join you in the car and then you will bring him to me. The driver will know which location to take him to." He stands up, indicating the end of your conversation.

"Very good, sir," you say as you plan the email you are going to have to send to the soon-to-be angry PM of Great Britain.

Once the email is sent you follow the instructions given to you. It takes you 4 minutes to deliver the message to room 432 and get into the car. 

"Where am I taking you today, miss?" Asks the chauffeur. You hand him the slip of paper as he starts up the engine and pulls out of the parking space you were in. As you are driving along you hear your phone bleep, telling you that you had a message. It was from Tanya, the PM's secretary. The two of you were quite good friends but when it came to work, you both tended to defend your boss and so sometimes there was a little friction there. The message she had sent this time was short and snappy, you could imagine her saying it in her own sharp voice.

I am sorry Tanya, but something urgent has come up…

As you begin to tap away your reply, you realise the car has stopped and someone was taking the place next to you in the back seat. You examine him out of the corner of your eye. Sandy cropped hair and the way he holds himself screams military, and the cane suggests he was injur-

You do a double take. The man beside you was gazing confusingly out of the window so he doesn't see the look of surprise on your face. John? 

You hadn't seen John for years, the last time you had seen him was when he had ended it with Sarah when he graduated university to become an army doctor and began his service in Afghanistan. He wanted to save her the constant worry and pain of whether he would return home that Christmas. Once a gentleman, always a gentleman, your mind sang.

It was clear he hadn't recognised you, so you bury a smug face and continue with your message. It had been such a long time, and no doubt John had been through a lot since his university years. You had also dyed your hair recently, once a golden blonde; you were now a dark wooden brown that made your pale skin look angel white. It was probably for the best anyway considering the job you had now.

"Hello." 

"Hi."

…there has been a development in Operation Raven. I cannot be specific but it means…

"What's your name then?" You find it almost impossible not to laugh. Do you really not recognise me John?

"Uuh… Anthea." The main character in a film you watched last week was called Anthea, and you had liked the name. 

"Is that your real name?" You smile.

"No." Come on Johnny, you know my real name!

…I am well aware that the Prime Minister has requested on numerous occasions for a meeting…

"I'm John."

"Yes I know," you suppress a giggle.

…I will organise for a new appointment as soon as possible…

"Is there any point in asking where I am going?" You were always the clever one.

"None at all, John." Bless him, he has no idea what's going on. So why is he visiting Mr Holmes? What has he got to do with Operation Raven?


	13. Enchanted Ch 13

"I'm to take you home," you say as you get out of the car you had been waiting in and walked towards the man who still didn't recognise you. John had had a short conversation you're your boss and was now looking very perplexed. "Address?" 

Open new message.

"Baker Street," John says, supposedly still stunned from his conversation. "221b Baker Street." He walks towards you, you feel guilty as you see how bad his limp is. War must have hit him hard. "But I need to stop off somewhere first." The two of you get into the car and John gives the directions to the driver.

Mr Holmes, JW is making his way to 221b Baker Street but returning to his own flat first. Any more orders before I leave him?

"Listen, your boss, any chance you could not tell him this is where I went?" You hesitate.

"Sure."

"You've told him already haven't you?" he asked almost immediately.

"Yeah," you laugh. Did he really expect you to keep it a secret from your own boss?

Buzz.   
1 new message.  
No. Just ensure he gets to his location and then return to me. I have some paperwork I need sorting. MH

You groan inwardly. Paperwork was definitely not the best part of this job.

The car pulls up to the flat in Baker Street. John goes to get out but then turns around to face you.

"Hey, um, do you ever get any free time?"

"Oh yeah lots," you smile. Knowing that you had trained as a forensic scientist, Mr Holmes had provided you with your own lab where you could experiment and play around with as much as you like. Occasionally he asked you to do some tests for him too so along with spying; you were solving crimes, just like you had always wanted! 

John was still hovering, looking slightly awkward and embarrassed. Wait, is he trying to ask me out? He is trying to ask me out, isn't he? This is ridiculous! To ensure he gets the message; you look at him unimpressed and say, "bye?"

"Okay," he mumbles and dashes out of the car. The moment the door behind you closes you burst into laughter as you realise just how insane this situation was.

You are still smiling as you stand before your boss in his office awaiting commands. He looks at you and raises his eyebrows saying nothing. You immediately straighten yourself up and put on a poker face.

"Now don't be like that, I must know what you find so amusing." 

"It's just John, sir, the man you asked me to collect for you, I went to university with him, but I haven't seen him in years! It was just a little surreal." The tone of your voice drops and your eyes glaze over. "I haven't thought about those days for a long time."

"Yes I know." The matter of fact tone in his voice shocks you back into the present. For a moment you are surprised, but then you remember that you work for the secret service and they probably know your life better than you do. "Did you have a good catch up?" Mr Holmes was a very posh man, so every time he said something even slightly common, it sounded funny to you.

"No he didn't recognise me. I didn't tell him either. I thought it was for the best considering the job I do." Mr Holmes nodded absent mindedly. He didn't care about these things; he was more focused on the necklace around your neck. Paranoid you clasp your hand around the pendant and stand awkwardly as he shifts in his chair. 

"That necklace," he swings the umbrella in his hand up and uses it to point at the said object, "you have worn it every day since I met you. Does it have some sort of sentimental value to you?"

"It was my mother's," you lie. You had done everything in your power to remove that part of your life from your existence, but for some reason you were unable to get rid of this one item. It was so beautiful, it was not meant to be cooped up in a box, it was meant to be put on display for the world to see its glory. None of your other jewellery compared to it so you never bothered to wear anything else. 

Mr Holmes frowned. He was clever, and knew when you were lying, but he didn't press further. Instead he changed position again to suggest a change in conversation. He picked up a revoltingly thick looking file filled with hand written notes and slammed it down on the desk in front of you.

"I need you to type this up for me. Preferably by 10am tomorrow."

"Yes sir," you say as you go into professional mode. Tasks like these were not uncommon for you, and you had discovered that doing it straight away gets it over and done with. You pick up the file and head straight for your next in the room next door. 

Signing in to your computer, you open up a new word document and begin. Ministry of Justice. Eyes only. Investigations have been done and it has been discovered by MH that… As you type your mind begins to question once again what the 'M' in MH stands for. 'H' obviously means 'Holmes' but your boss had never told his first name, and first names were never included on any of the papers you saw, probably for security reasons. Sometimes you would sit at your desk and list possible names beginning with 'M'. Martin, Michael, Matthew, but they never seemed to suit him. You were determined to find out though, one day.

*

"Beth, come with me." Mr Holmes slammed his fist in your desk as he walked past and charged towards the exit of the building. In a fluster you save the document you had almost finished typing and grabbed your coat, jogging to his side. 

"Sir."

"There has been a development in Operation Raven. A big one. I am needed immediately."

"But sir you have an appointment with the Prime Minister at-"

"It won't take long. You can hurry me up if necessary."

The car drive takes you all around London until you turn up at a college swarming with police cars. 

"What's going on?" you ask.

"Stay here," was Mr Holmes' only reply. He gets out of the car while you double check that he has enough time to make it to the meeting. Taking out your phone you see that you can give him five minutes and that is all, or else he will be late. 

Open new message.  
Tanya, I'm so sorry but MH may be late to the appointment. I ensure you that he is coming and I will do what I can to hurry him along but we are on the other side of London so it may take us a little while to get there. Sorry for the inconvenience. B

You wait patiently until she replies.

1 new message.  
As long as he turns up I don't think my boss cares how or when MH makes an appearance. Mr Holmes waltzes around like he is more important than anyone in this country and that having a consultation with him is the PM's privilege. Just make sure he comes okay? T

You smile, Tanya was refreshingly blunt sometimes.

Open new message.  
I will see what I can do. I know he has cancelled this appointment a ridiculous number of times and I am sorry for that-

Damn! The five minutes you had allocated Mr Holmes' had passed and he really had to go if he intended to get to this meeting. You get out of the car and walk towards your boss. Someone walks past you but you are too focused on the job in hand. Mr Holmes catches your eye and nods his head. At least he knows he needs to go now. He was talking to John, but you weren't paying much attention to what they were saying, you were still replying to Tanya's message.

I am ushering him along now and we should be leaving any minute. B

"I'd better, um," John looked over to the shadow that had walked past you earlier, but then he noticed you. "Hello again." He was peering his head over your phone, trying to attract your attention.

"Hello."

"Yeah, we met earlier on this evening." If you won't recognise me, then I am not going to recognise you.

"Oh!" You say in fake surprise.

"Okay." He rushes off to the figure down the street waiting for him.

"Goodnight, Dr Watson," your boss murmurs in an almost creepy way. He stands there, watching John walk off.

"Sir, should we go?" You ask.

"Interesting that soldier fellow, he could be the making of my brother, or make him worse than ever." Brother? He was babbling again, he did that sometimes when he felt like he needed to be clever. There was a look in his eye that you recognised too. "Either way we'd better upgrade their surveillance status. Grade 3 active."

"Sorry sir, who's status?" He could never be clear about these things, could he?

"Sherlock Holmes and Dr Watson."


	14. Enchanted Ch 14

"Sh-Sh-Sherlock Holmes?" You stutter, as you take a step towards the direction John went in, but then you stop as you remember why you were there. You worked for the government you couldn't just wander off now!

But the cogs were turning in your head. Had that shadow that had glided past you really been Sherlock Holmes? You had barely glimpsed at him! 

You felt the colour drain from your cheeks and a sick feeling in the pit of your stomach. You cling on to the necklace around your throat for dear life and do your best to compose yourself. 

"I'm sorry sir, but are you Mycroft? Mycroft Holmes?"

"I think there are some things we need to talk about Beth," he says with a blank expression as he straightens his posture and directs you to the car.

You slide into the back seat with ease and Mycroft follows behind. The car automatically starts as the driver begins to take you to your next destination. Mr Holmes sighs, still not looking at you, and twirls the oversized umbrella in his hand.

"So he did tell you my name."

"Is that a yes?" 

He holds out his hand.

"Mycroft Holmes, brother of Sherlock Holmes your university boyfriend, at your service." You do not shake his hand as he mocks you. There were so many questions you wanted to ask, but where could you begin? Mycroft eyes you up and down while you attempt to string together sentences. 

"So you knew?"

"Yes, I am very well informed of my brother's activities. Operation Raven has been a long running process that ensures the safety of my brother." 

What did Sherlock once say to you? Mycroft was a nuisance and tried to control his life? Well, you could understand what he meant now! 

"I have been watching you since university. I know about your family, your friends, I thought you would appreciate being trained by your Sarah. She is very good at her job; it is likely we will send more of our workers there. I know about your concerns for Sima as well." You feel pin pricks on the back of your eyes as you try not to cry. This man was inside your head! "We are keeping an eye on her. I do not take kindly to abuse. Physical or mental." 

"Thank you," you mouth, "but I still don't understand-"

"On the very few occasions that my brother and I spoke he told me you would make a very good agent. He has an eye for these things and so I put your name on the list. Normally you would have to apply but Sherlock assured me you would be fine with it." You half smile. "I decided it was better that you didn't know my connection to Sherlock because of the necklace around your neck." As a reflex you look down at it and grasp it on your hand. "It was our mother's." His mother's? No one gives away their mother's jewellery unless the person they were giving it to was really spec- "I knew Sherlock had once given it to you, he even asked mummy's permission!" There was genuine surprise on Mycroft's face, even now as he thought of this memory. "When you lied to me about the origin of it I knew it would affect your work if you knew who I was. So I said nothing."

You did your best to suppress the anger you felt. Partly at your boss for not telling you, what right did he have to keep this information from you? And partly at yourself, for being stupid enough not to recognise the Holmes' trait of intelligence and the same last name. 

"This meeting is the last of the night. May I suggest you take the day off tomorrow and-"

"No!" You interject, a little too forcefully. "No, I'd rather just work through this. I still have that file you want me to type up." The smile suggested Mycroft approved of your decision. He would never admit it but you were priceless to him. 

*

"Dammit!" Came an exclamation from the office beside you. You take a deep breath and count down as you knew exactly what was going to happen next. Three, two, one… "Beth!" You had already entered the office before Mycroft had the chance to finish saying your name. 

"Sir," you say with a smug smile. Mycroft very rarely got angry, so it was amusing when he did. Well, maybe not for the person he was angry at, but for you it was quite a sight. His hand was hovering over the telephone on his desk; he must have just got the update over the phone.

"Sherlock has attempted to take on a smuggling ring single handed and almost got himself and 2 others killed!" He spoke through gritted teeth. "Why must he be so immature?" You hold your professional front but your heart was thumping fast as you resisted the urge to stroke the pendant around your neck. 

You had done your best to not think about Sherlock in any other way than just another operation that Mycroft was running. But that wasn't easy. Mycroft and Sherlock were very much alike in their brilliance, although they had very different ways of expressing it. Every now and then you would find yourself wondering what Sherlock had been up to over the past few years. You had found out he had become the famous consulting detective he vowed to be, and you were proud of him for that. But whenever any positive feelings towards Sherlock returned to you, Mycroft would immediately remind you that Sherlock had never bothered to learn any people skills and that he was colder than ever. And that knocked anything out of you. 

You try and speak in a noncommittal way. 

"Is he okay?"

"Yes fine. But the leader of the group escaped, only to be found killed in an alleyway 4 miles away. She was shot execution style. And I don't believe the alleyway is the original crime scene. I don't like this Beth, not one bit." You pull out a pad of paper and a pencil.

"What is it that you want me to do?"

"Cover up the death of this leader. We don't want the public to panic. Just another gang rivalry will do. Find us a fall back guy as well." You sigh. You never like arresting innocent people. You always try to find fall back's who are guilty of other crimes so to try and reason with yourself that you are doing the right thing. "And get section 17 to look into The Black Lotus. We have resources Sherlock Holmes doesn't. Perhaps we can actually capture these criminals." You bow your head and carry out your orders.


	15. Enchanted Ch 15

"Meetings?" The question that always started your day. As soon as you arrive at work you immediately enter Mycroft's office to go through this little routine the pair of you had set up not long after you started working there. As usual you flick open your diary and list all the meetings he has that day.

"You have an appointment with MI6 at 10:00. They have you for two hours, although they did ask for more."

"No time," he says with a wave of his hand. You sigh and continue.

"The PM wants to introduce you to some members of the Korean Government. That is at 12:30. With the elections going on he says he may need your help in persuading them to-"

"Sir." The door of your boss' office swings open with a ridiculous amount of force and a breathless man enters. "Sir," the intruder says again. You recognise him as a member of MI6, the one appointed to liaison with Mr Holmes when there is a situation of national security. 

"What's happened Madden?" His palms were sweating and his breathing fast, like he had run all the way here. This could not be good news. 

Mr Madden glances over at you in an uncomfortable way. 

"Beth is not a traitor, any information you have, you can trust her absolutely." You straighten your posture and glare at him, offended. "If you don't say what you have to say in front of her now, I would tell her when you were gone anyway!" Mycroft says defensively and quite crossly. You try not to smile, pleased that Mr Holmes sees you in this way. Madden drops his eyes from you, knowing there was nothing worse than arguing with Mr Mycroft Holmes.

"It's the Bruce Partington Plans, sir. They have been stolen."

"What?" Mycroft jumps out of his seat in shock. Madden drops a file onto Mycroft's desk, his breath now at a steady pace. 

"Andrew West, a civil servant involved in a minor capacity with the plans, and keeper of the memory stick they were on, was found dead on a train line at Battersea Station. Blunt force trauma to the head."

"He killed himself?"

Madden doesn't answer directly.

"There was no train ticket on the body and his oyster card had not been used, there was very little blood at the crime scene considering the injury sustained. As far as we know the plans have not been sold or taken out of the country so it is likely that they are nearby."

Mycroft opens the file in front of him and uses his index finger to trace the words on the page.

"Andrew West… "Westy"… 27… last seen by girlfriend at 10.30pm…"

For a second time the office door swings open, a young woman this time who you knew as one of the other secretaries. Her name was Joanne.

"Sir, there has been an explosion-"

"We are having an extremely important and TOP SECRET meeting here, you should know better than to barge in like this," barked Mycroft.

"No, no, you don't understand sir," replied a much more timid Joanne. "The explosion was opposite 221b Baker Street, a gas leak."

Your mouth is dry and you are terrified for Sherlock and John's life. Mycroft stands silently as you wait for his response. He appears calm and indifferent to the information, like he doesn't realise they could be seriously hurt!

"Well," he sighs, "it is a good thing I was about to pay my brother a little visit anyway. I always like to kill two birds with one stone." 

Mycroft makes his way out of the office and without instruction you follow behind. He pauses at your desk, turning to you saying, 

"Inform MI6 that I will be late, and make inquiries about this gas leak, just to be on the safe side." 

Nodding, you pull out your phone and begin to tap away as he takes a few steps forward. You do too, and then you bump into him as you realised he has stopped once more. 

"I want you to stay here," he says calmly. 

"But I always come with you," you stutter, "even if I just wait in the car-"

"I think it is best if you stay here." He spoke slowly, looking deep into your eyes, making you feel five centimetres tall. His eyebrows arched and his lips had stretched into a thin line. It was times like these that Mycroft Holmes felt like a father figure. You knew he was right, turning up on Sherlock's doorstep after an explosion wasn't going to do anyone any good. Defeated, you make your way back to your desk and sit down, staring at your phone. After a few moments of arguing with yourself you send a short text to your boss.

Let me know if he is okay. B

*

At 2 o'clock you are doing your usual paperwork, everything Mycroft hated doing. You are still shaken from this morning but Mycroft had assured you that Sherlock and John were both okay, and it was the flat that had received most of the damage. You phone buzzes.

1 new message

From: M Holmes

I expect JW to make an appearance any time soon. Direct him into my office and I will be down shortly. MH

Sure enough, at that moment, a very overwhelmed John appeared in front of you. He must have recognised you from the other end of the room and come straight over because there were a fair few other people he could have spoken to in this office. 

"Hi, I'm John Watson; I'm here to see Mr Holmes." You smile a kind smile as you subtly look over him. He doesn't appear to be hurt at all, that was comforting. 

"Yes I know. Come with me please." You walk him to Mycroft's private office and offer him a chair in front of the desk. "Mr Holmes tells me there was an explosion in your street," careful, Beth, careful, "you seem unharmed." 

"Oh, erm, I wasn't there when it happened." John seemed genuinely surprised at your concern, so you try to tone down the emotion in your voice so it sounds like you are just being polite and making conversation.

"I know you have a flatmate, was he okay?" There is a tremor in your voice that you try your best to conceal.

"You wouldn't have known anything had happened if you had seen him sitting on the armchair when I got back. He was just strumming his violin trying to annoy and ignore his brother, your boss I might add."

"I know." There is silence between you. Sherlock still played the violin? He didn't forget that little thing you taught him! You feel almost proud. "Wait here for Mr Holmes to return," you instruct, and then you leave the room. Mycroft is waiting for you at your desk.

"So, he is here."

"Yes sir, just arrived."

"I will make him wait a little -ooh- " Mycroft rubs his left cheek as a shot of pain runs through it.

"How was the dentist sir?" you ask.

"Fine. But the novocaine is beginning to wear off."

"I have paracetamol in my bag if you need it." He forces a smile as he drops his hand. 

"Let's hope Sherlock is focused on the job in hand, shall we?" he says as he walks into his office.

A little while later John leaves, looking more confused than when he came in! Mycroft soon follows, also with a puzzled look on his face.

"Sherlock is distracted."

"I'm sorry?"

"He has another case that he is focused on, but it is serious, or else I would have known about it by now. He wants to keep it from me. He wants me to believe he is working on my case or else he wouldn't have bothered to send John here."

"Would you like me to investigate?" you ask, preparing to send all the necessary texts.

"No. You continue with the Korean elections. I will investigate this myself."


	16. Enchanted Ch 16

"Beth, Beth, have you seen Mr Holmes?" A very pale Joanne jogs up to your desk with a folder in her hands.

"No, he has been out of the office since yesterday, why?"

"There has been another explosion. The news is reporting it as another gas leak but there is intelligence to say an old woman was strapped to a bomb."

"Oh my god!" you exclaim. "I will call him immediately." You grab your phone type in 01 – speed dial for Mycroft Holmes. You didn't do that though, it was already set up when the state gave you the phone.

"I'm afraid I am a little busy right now Beth, is there no one else qualified to fix-"

"No sir, you don't understand," you interrupt. "There has been another explosion, a bomb." There is silence on the other end of the phone. "Sir?"

"Go home Beth, get some rest, then return here at 11 o'clock. I have a feeling we may be staying late tonight."

"Did you not hear me sir? I said there was a bomb-"

"You were perfectly clear Beth. You have your orders, now follow them." He hangs up and you slowly put the phone down. 

Bewildered you go back to your flat and get into bed, not bothering to change. You toss and turn, unable to get to sleep, images of fire and death on your mind. Every single one of those victims had a family who would be affected, and Mycroft wanted you to sleep? I don't think so!

Pulling out your laptop you begin to read through all the articles on the explosions. Everything you read suggested it was a gas leak, an accident. Official statements were not going to get you anywhere either, what you have to do is search for gossip.

"Hello mum."

"Hey darling, how are you? I haven't heard from you for ages!"

"I know, I'm sorry, it's just work, you know?"

"Yes I know." Phone conversations always started off like this. Your mother knows that you work for the secret service, and usually she is okay about it, but she doesn't like how little she sees you now, and the lack of a personal life you seem to have after leaving the lab you once worked at.

"Actually I need your help with something." You hear a sigh at the other end of the phone.

"Anything to serve my queen and country," she replies sarcastically.

"It's these gas leaks, what's your view on them?"

"They are just gas leaks aren't they? You aren't in danger are you?"

"Mum," you sigh.

"I know I know, you can't talk about it. Well, I do think it was suspicious that there were two gas leak explosions so close together and yet supposedly not linked. Apparently the second one was in an old lady's house, except the gas wasn't on and the explosion was bigger than you would expect. They're not really sure what happened. And the first one in London, well no one was in the building! So it's a bit strange that something like that could happen without some sort of human involvement."

You make an 'hmm' noise to show you were listening and taking in the information.

"Elsie, you remember Elsie? She used to live next door before her brother got sick and she moved in with him. Well, she was in London this morning and as she was walking down the street she saw a load of policemen running towards this man who was standing on an island in the middle of the road. He didn't run for it or anything, in fact he looked like he wanted the police to come for him. They took him to this white van, and he and some men in black got into the back and drove off."

"That's odd."

"That's what she said anyway. About 10 o'clock this morning"

"Well, thanks mum, you and your gossip have been a great help."

"I do not gossip!" You smile at your mother's protests.

"Bye mum."

"Bye love."

There was one other way you could get information. You weren't really supposed to, but since this was relevant to a serious case of national security that Mycroft Holmes said he was investigating, you decide this was an exception.

You go back to your laptop and open up the software used by the secret service. You had a fair amount of clearance and a simple arrest should be available to you. You search through the London Metropolitan Police database to try and find an arrest that sounded like the one your mother described. There was none. There was however an entry that did not make sense. 

Tuesday, March 29th, 10:04am, eight policemen and one bomb squad called out.

Bomb squad? You click on it.

Enter Clearance Details

You type in your details.

ID: BB246  
Password: stradivarius18

A bright red box flashes on your screen.

YOU DO NOT HAVE CLEARANCE

What? How could you not have clearance for a simple call out? Everyone in the secret service has clearance over police details. 

You scroll down the page, skimming over more entries not expecting to find anything. But then a similar submission catches your eye. 

Tuesday, March 29th, 4:17pm, ten policemen and one bomb squad called out.

And then another.

Monday, March 28th, 9:34pm, twelve policemen and one bomb squad called out.

Something was going on, but what was it?

You are back at work half an hour early. Mycroft is there talking to a group of men and seems surprised at your eagerness to get back to your desk. He dismisses his guests, making his way over to you.

"I thought I said 11 o'clock. You are early."

"What is going on?" you ask with a very hard expression on your face.

"I don't know what you mea-"

"There have been five bombs in London, two of which have detonated, and you have said nothing to me. Yesterday you told Madden that you trusted me completely, I will not have you go behind my back." Mycroft studies you and you hold his gaze, you are not going to back down this time. 

"Come with me," he orders, as he leads you to his office and shuts the door.

"I want to help," you say pathetically. Mycroft leans back against his desk and with a nod of the head, offers you the seat in front of him. Silently, you take it.

"Someone is playing a game with my brother."

"What kind of a game?"

"A twisted game. Strapping innocent people to bombs so Sherlock will solve crimes the bomber is connected to."

"Oh my god." You deflate slightly, as the weight of this situation settles itself on your shoulders.

"The problem is that there is very little we can do. This game is for Sherlock and if we interfere we risk the possibility of another bomb."

"So what are we doing?"

"Keeping an eye on him." There was a sickly smile on Mycroft's lips, you are always watching him Mycroft, no wonder he hated you.

There was a beep from the computer on the desk. Mycroft goes over to it and taps a few letters on the keyboard.

"What are you planning little brother?" he murmurs. 

"What? What is it?" Mycroft beckons you over and you look over his shoulder onto the screen. He was on a website with a dark background and white text. There was an update, only posted a few seconds ago. You read it out loud.

Found. The Bruce Partington plans. Please collect. The pool. Midnight.


	17. Enchanted Ch 17

Mycroft is on the phone immediately.

"I want a bomb squad and a CO19 Force Firearms team with me immediately." He shuts his eyes and begins to murmur to himself. "The pool… the pool… what could that mean?"

"A swimming pool?" you offer.

"Shut up!" he barks. His hands grip tightly on the arms of his chair as his lips move frantically but no sound comes out. "Carl Powers!" he bellows as he returns to the phone. "I shall have my PA text you the address in two minutes." He hangs up. 

"Sir?"

"Beth, find the address of the pool where Carl Powers died and then text it to CO19. They can meet us there."

You don't need to look at the case files, you have the details of that murder etched into your brain. 

Send.

"Carl Powers? Why Carl Powers?"

"It was the first case our mysterious bomber had Sherlock investigate. He managed to prove Carl was murdered."

You smile. Sherlock could finally say he was right, although you knew that already! Mycroft opens the door for you.

"Fancy a swim?" You roll your eyes at his one-liner, but the expression he is pulling with his eyebrows is enough to make you grin. 

You leave the office and make your way to the lift, pressing the 'G' for Ground level. Mycroft then reaches out and presses the button for '4'. 

"Firearms? I thought CO19 were meeting us there?" Mycroft does not reply. 

The lift opens and Mycroft strides out with confidence to the room at the end of the corridor. You follow not quite so sure of why you were there. You stand by the door as Mycroft uses his key card to open a large metal box – a safe. He ponders for a moment as he gazes over the contents, then finally he pulls out a colt 1911 pistol and hands it to you.

"I think you might be needing this."

You handle it gingerly as you nod and slip it into your pocket. As a PA, you weren't authorised to carry a gun, you were however, trained to use one, and you were a particularly good shot. 

In the car on the way to the swimming pool you can feel your heartbeat increasing, the gun in your pocket pressing against you, a constant reminder that this is the most dangerous mission you have been on since joining the service. And you were doing it for Sherlock. Mycroft says nothing for the whole journey, clearly thinking about a strategy, and you for once are thankful that he is able to stay calm. 

You stop. Swallowing a gulp of air you follow Mycroft out of the car and freeze as you see all the teams in black holding large guns and talking through radios. One approaches you and shakes hands with your boss.

"The building is run down, there is no CCTV, we do not know what is going on in there."

"My brother is being confronted by a master criminal in the main pool room, Major," Mycroft says coldly, "and he is going to be harmed if we do not do something."

"We cannot go in without knowing exactly what is happening. You say this man is a bomber. Then we cannot risk it!" Mycroft sticks his nose up in the air and speaks as he looks around.

"We shall enter through the back entrance that I know exists, and then we will head for the stairs and keeping low we shall make our way around the balcony around the pool room so we can see exactly what is happening and then I shall assess the situation and decide the best way forward." He finishes his speech with a glare and the man that you still don't know the name of sighs. 

"I shall give the orders to the other men. Get yourselves some bullet proof vests from the back of the van," to which he indicates, "and then we shall enter ten minutes."

Mycroft hands you a vest and then puts one on himself. He watches the team as they are instructed and you wait patiently beside him, leaning from one foot to the other, unable to keep still. 

"Are you alright?"

"Me? Yep, fine," you answer too quickly.

"Stay calm." You let out a laugh. Easy for you to say. "I need you." Your eyes meet. 

"Have I ever let you down?" you smirk.

"Never," he replies quietly. 

The team leader walks over to you again.

"We are ready sir." Mycroft nods and together you follow him to the back entrance of the pool. You watch him give a few hand signals that you didn't understand then the first batch of men enter. A few seconds later the second batch go in. The three of you wait outside for information. Mycroft was one of the most valuable men to the secret service and to have him killed would most likely corrupt the government, and so they had to be sure it was relatively safe before he entered the building. 

Seconds drag past. You shiver at the sudden chill in the air and the silence echoing around you. Both Mycroft and the Major are focused on the door, but your eyes are darting everywhere, unable to keep still. You hear footsteps and a head appears from round the door.

"Captain," the Major whispers.

"There were snipers on the balcony, all the way around."

"Is everyone alright?"

"We have control. Some are dead, some are drugged, some are just growling as a gun is pressed against their forehead. But anyway, we have control over the guns. But we do not want to be detected so the lasers are still pointing at the men in the room."

"Who are these men," Mycroft interjects.

"One is standing, holding a gun. Dark curly hair and in a suit. Another is crouching down, with sandy hair, watching the other two. The third man has dark hair, in a suit, and he looks uncomfortably calm and pleased with himself. There is what we believe to be a bomb between them."

"You have control of all the snipers you say?" The captain nods in reply to Mycroft's question. "Then I am going in."

Without waiting for an all clear from the Major, Mycroft charges into the building and tip toes up the stairs. Automatically you follow, ignoring the silent protests behind you. You slip your hand in your pocket and wrap your fingers around the pistol in there. It is little comfort. You mirror Mycroft as he ducks when you reach the top of the stairs. You assume this is so anyone below cannot see you. You edge your way to the middle of the balcony and then sit with your back against the opaque glass balustrades. Mycroft acknowledges the Major as he signals that he is going to go round, and then the two of you slowly turn around and press your eyes between the gaps of the balustrade. There is a conversation going on below.

"You can't be allowed to continue. You just can't." The unmistakable Irish twang echoes around the room.

"Jim?" you whisper, unsure if your mind is playing tricks on you. 

"I would try to convince you-"

"You know him?" questions Mycroft.

"-but everything I have to say has already crossed your mind." 

"From university," you snarl as you remember what he was like.

"And probably my answer has crossed yours."

You watch in horror as Sherlock, your dear Sherlock, raises his hand and points his gun at the heap on the floor. The bomb!

"Mycroft, what do we do? He is going to bring the building down, Mycroft!" You grab hold of him in blind panic. 

"Stay. Calm." You swallow more air. "I need you to do something for me Beth. I need you to shoot Jim for me."

"But I-"

"You are the only person here I trust, and I know you are a good shot. If you don't it is likely that one of the men here will shoot Sherlock and I don't think either of us could bare that." You pull out the gun from your pocket and show it to your boss.

"Don't let me down. Ready?" I am never going to be ready! "Three, two, one…"

You spin on your heal and stand up, aim, and fire.

The sound of the shot rings in your ear, you cannot hear Mycroft's whispers for you to get down. He has to grip you by the hips and pull so that you land on his lap. He gently tugs the gun out of your hand as you tremble, unable to move. He puts his arm around you and together you watch through the gap.

The expression on Jim's face is complete and utter shock. He looks from where you once stood, to Sherlock, and then staggers backwards before falling to the floor. Sherlock and John do not move. 

"You got yourself some back up Sherlock," heaved Jim as the blood spilled out from his left shoulder. "That's cheating. And cheating should always be punished."

Wincing in pain, Jim reaches into his expensive looking suit pocket and pulls out a small black box with a red dot on it. 

One of the men supposed to be guarding one of the snipers jumps on the pair of you as you see Jim pressing down on the red button.

The ground beneath you collapses as a BOOM rips your ear drums apart. You cling on to Mycroft as you feel yourself falling… falling… falling…


	18. Enchanted Ch 18

Hospitals. God you hate them. You would much rather be back doing your old job analysing blood than having your own samples taken. The jumper you are wearing is itchy, clearly one of Mycroft's men, who knew nothing about fashion, had picked it out, although you are still grateful you aren't wearing that hospital gown anymore. There's that word again. Hospital. A reminder of everything wrong with you, everything you did.

Your room suddenly becomes very claustrophobic. You get up too quickly off of your bed and stumble to the door. One of the nurses sees you and tries to help.

"Thank you," you say through gritted teeth, you never liked being treated like an invalid. "Is there a visitor's room somewhere?" you ask politely. 

"Down the corridor and to the left." You smile a thank you and make your way in the direction you were guided in. 

The room is completely empty when you enter it and you make a dive for the window, pushing it open as far as it will go. The crisp, cold air swirls in your lungs, the smell of disinfectant temporarily removed from your mind. You take a few more gulps of air and gaze out of the window. The view is the same as your room. A car park and lots of windows into other people's wards, other people's suffering. How many of them were Mycroft's men?

"I thought it was you," said a voice from behind. You turn to see John standing in the doorway. "I saw you come in here, Sherlock and I are down the corridor." You smile softly, acknowledging his presence. "Is he dead? Is he really dead?" The name doesn't need to be spoken.

"Yes."

You look at him hard, showing him you are being sincere. John gives a sigh of relief and then an awkward silence settles between you. There was no need to talk about him any more.

"I see Mycroft provided you with some clothes too," you say, indicating the jeans and checked shirt. John looks down at himself and laughs.

"Yes he did. Is he okay?"

"So he says. He discharged himself this morning; apparently he cannot stop just because he got a few scratches!"

"That's Mycroft! And are you okay?"

"A little wobbly but no broken bones. The same can't be said for the man that jumped on top of us when the bomb went off. He is in an induced coma as the doctors try and fix him." You shudder.

"That's not what I meant," John said slowly. 

"Then what did you mean?"

"I saw you, you shot Moriarty. You were frozen solid on that balcony as Moriarty fell backwards." He spoke softly, with the voice of experience. "Have you ever shot someone before?"

"I don't do it on a daily basis, no," you say as warmly as you can, refusing to give away much more.

"I can tell you are a strong person, you will be fine." I don't feel fine, you think to yourself. "Trust me, Anthea." He pulls a face as he says the name you game him, knowing the name means nothing to you.

"Oh John," you sigh as you walk over to him and stroke the skin just below the graze on his cheek. "You still don't recognise me do you?" John's eyebrows furrow together. "I understand that you probably don't remember much of your teenage years, the army does that to people." He studies you for a long time but then his eyes suddenly widen, the penny dropping in the back of his mind.

"Beth! Oh my god, Beth!" He pulls you into a tight embrace. "It's been years! How have you been?"

"Not bad," you tease, "I work for an IT company, looking at forged documents. Unfortunately there was an accident with one of the machines and now everyone who works with me needs to be checked out, hence the hospital." John looks confused for a moment.

"Oh, cover story."

"Indeed." You assume John is finding it difficult to accept that Beth and Anthea are the same person aka you.

"You look so different," he exclaims.

"You don't," you whisper.

"So, you're a spy!"

"And you are an assistant to Sherlock Holmes!" John's eyes widen for the second time.

"You… you dated him, didn't you? In your first year? I only met him a few times."

"Yes, I didn't expect you to remember him at all really. Even if I told you who he was."

"Of course I do, you two were besotted with each other!" You look to your feet awkwardly. "And now you work for his brother!"

"That wasn't intentional," you say, a little too defensively. "I didn't realise who Mycroft was until after I took the job."

"Have you seen Sherlock work? He is incredible. He is a consulting detective."

"Yes, I know. Mycroft keeps watch for him, although he thought it best if I was not involved in those operations."

"Why?"

"Because he thought I might be compromised, considering our history. It was for the best." John's eyes dart to your left hand, and then back to your face. He can see the pain in your eyes.

"You… never found anyone then?" he asks carefully.

"With this job?" you say with a fake laugh. But John can see through your lies, it wasn't your job that stopped you from falling in love.

There was another awkward pause.

"You should come and see Sherlock, I'm sure he'd love to see-"

"I can't."

"Why not?" John asks after a moment of silence.

"I just can't." The tone in your voice tells him that there would be no argument about this. "How is he?" you ask with real emotion in your voice.

"He is complaining. He wants to be up and out of here but the doctors told him to rest. He did for me what Mycroft's man did for you; he shielded me from the blast, getting most of the shrapnel in his back. The surgeon got the pieces out okay but it means he cannot move around too much. But I have no doubt that when I go back to him he will be attempting to make a break for it."

You press the back of your hand to your lips and suppress a whimper.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," you sob as you run out of the room so the ex-soldier does not see you cry.

In your room you wipe away the tears that escape against your wishes from your eyes. The thought of Sherlock hurt was unbearable. And to think that you… 

You try and distract yourself, sitting on your bed and following the cracks in the walls surrounding you. You find yourself recalling your conversation with Mycroft this morning.

"It will be a gas leak, although that excuse is wearing thin these days, we do not need another cover up any time soon." You weren't quite sure if he was talking to himself or you.

"How… how many men… did we lose?"

"None, so far. But some of them are in critical condition. We will just have to take it one day at a time."

"Like you should be," you pull a knowing face.

"I am perfectly fine, and the Prime Minister has asked for my personal assistance in clearing this mess up." You swallow.

"He is… dead isn't he?" Mycroft's face was grave.

"Yes. James Moriarty was closer to the bomb than anyone else, and he had no one to protect him. I suspect he wanted to die, he couldn't cope with his genius. Nobody could keep up with him. The crime gave him the thrill he sought, like a drug, but when the effect began to wear off he wanted bigger and better, until the final thrill was death. And then there is Sherlock. Someone with equal intelligence but they could live with it, Sherlock had found a way to cope. I think he both admired and hated Sherlock for it. If he was going to die, then so would Sherlock, and Sherlock was going to be the one to pull the trigger."

You didn't know what to say to that. 

"I can resign, if it's easier."

"I beg your pardon?" Mycroft was genuinely baffled.

"I assume a resignation would look better on you than if you fired me. I am sure I can – or someone else can – find a replacement for you. I'm sure Sarah has plenty of good secretaries perfect for this job."

"And why would I be needing another secretary?"

"I missed," you say simply. "I should have shot him through the heart, or the head, but I missed. And now god knows how many people are in this hospital because of me, including your brother." Mycroft eyed you before replying slowly and seriously.

"If you hadn't shot him my brother would be dead. We owe you both our gratitude. Now if I hear talk like that again I shall demote you to the filing room." 

"Thank you, sir." You half smile, the guilt was still there but at least you weren't going to lose the job you love so much.

"Take your time to recover, but don't be too long because it seems I cannot work efficiently without you."

"I will be back in the office on Monday."

You shake your head, trying to erase the memories of the past few days. You were alive. John was alive. Mycroft was alive. Sherlock was alive. And you were thankful, so thankful. You take a sip of water from the cup on the bedside table and wander back over to the window. Hospitals.

There is a rattle from behind you and you turn expecting to see a doctor entering your room, coming in for a check up or maybe even to discharge you. You so badly wanted to get out of this place.

But it wasn't a doctor.

"Sherlock?"


	19. Enchanted Ch 19

You hold your breath. He looks so weak, so vulnerable! Because of what you did to him. His skin is pale, but not the angel white you once knew, it is a sickly grey. He is leaning against the door post, unable to hold himself up without assistance. He reaches out into the space behind him, not taking his eyes off of you, searching.

"John? John!" He finally finds John's arm and latches onto it. "Why have you brought me here?"

"A little reunion, I thought you might like to see each other again." That was a lie, obviously. He was trying to force something that you wanted, but didn't have the courage to do yourself. He didn't miss a trick. 

"I told you I couldn't do this John," you whisper, wishing you could have said it without Sherlock hearing.

"She doesn't want me here John, let's go." Sherlock let's go of the door post and attempts to step back, but his legs buckle underneath him, and if it wasn't for John catching him he would have fallen flat on his face. John quickly ushers Sherlock to your unused bed. Sherlock is muttering protests. "No John… take me to my own bed… she doesn't want to see me…" but John is adamant. You hadn't noticed you were stepping backwards until you find yourself pressed against the wall. As John settles a fidgeting Sherlock into the bed he eyes you, giving you a nod. He wants us to talk. Why now? Why not until after Sherlock is better?

John turns to leave and meekly Sherlock catches his finger on his cuff, stopping him. 

"Please John," he breathes. John untangles Sherlock from himself and then, without saying a word, he walks out of the room, not looking at either of you as he leaves. 

As John disappears from view, your eyes dart to Sherlock and his dart to you. You watch each other, a cold, unrevealing mask on both of your faces. He is more beautiful than you remember, with his black curly hair you so loved to run your fingers through, and his eyes, crystal, although their sparkle is missing. Suits definitely suit him, even scruffy unfitted ones like the one he is wearing now. And his lips… I wonder if they are as soft as I remember them…

Sherlock suddenly splutters a cough and winces in pain. You bite down on your hand again to stifle the cries that are trying to escape from your throat. You press your back against the wall trying to make the distance between the two of you as far as possible. 

"I am sorry." You whisper so quietly you can barely hear it yourself. "I am so sorry."

"So Mycroft listened to me for once." Your heart stops at the sound of his voice as it is directed at you. It had gotten deeper and smoother, you are certain he could get all the information he needed with a voice like that. "Clearly you work for him or else you wouldn't be in a hospital being treated for injuries sustained from an exploding bomb. But I see you got out okay, someone was protecting you." Guilt surges through your body. You run to the end of the hospital bed and cling to the bars. 

"I am so sorry." I would have protected you if I could. "Are you okay?" you ask pathetically. He tilts his head to the side. He is deducing me!

"You were the sniper!" he says at last. "You were the one that shot Moriarty!" He tilts his head to the other side. "And you blame yourself for the explosion, or else you wouldn't keep apologising to everyone." You watch him, your eyes pleading, tell me it's not my fault Sherlock, please, I need you to say it's all okay. Sherlock drops his eyes and gazes out of the window, wincing in pain again. You hold back the new tears forming, you already look weak, you will not let him see you cry. 

"Now miss-"

You jump. Neither of you had noticed the doctor entering the room, and you are startled when he starts talking.

"Oh I beg your pardon," he says to Sherlock, looking at his notes. "I am looking for a Miss Beth-"

"That would be me," you say with firm authority. The doctor looks questioningly at the patient who is clearly in the wrong bed, but he says nothing. 

"Oh right. Well, anyway, you have been discharged from the hospital." You heave a sigh of relief. "If you would like to come with me and collect your things." You follow the doctor out of the room, Sherlock's gaze burning in the back of your head the whole time. 

The doctor takes you to a small room filled with lockers, opening one with a key. 

"Here we go." He pulls out a pile of scorched clothing and hands them to you in a bag. Next he hands you your collection of ID's – just for emergency situations of course. Finally he holds up a small pistol and waits for you to take it. 

You freeze. 

"I've signed the official secrets act don't worry."

"Oh no, that's not what…" you stutter. Come on, a doctor will not feel assured if a member of the British Government is unable to touch a gun. Gingerly you take the gun between your first finger and thumb and wrap it up in one of the scorched items of clothing. I should get this back to HQ. 

"Oh, and there is this." The doctor reaches into the back of the locker and pulls out your silver necklace. You take it and put it on in a reflex and immediately feel more like yourself. "That's everything, you can go home, but if you feel ill at any time get yourself check out."

"Yes sir, thank you."

You go back to your room and for a moment you forget Sherlock is still in there. You pause at the door way and take a deep breath in before entering the room and finding your shoes.

"I've been discharged."

"Yes I heard." The feeling of guilt returns, you keep your back to him so you cannot see his face. This was hard enough without looking at his scarred cheekbones and split lip. The silence between you is deafening. You rush around to collect your things and stuff them in the bag holding the gun. The sooner you are out of here the better. Before you leave you turn to face Sherlock and look him square in the face. He has been watching me this whole time.

"I… um," this was not the reunion you intended. You sigh. "I'll get John before I leave."

Sherlock is looking at you intently again. Something about you had changed because he had his deducing face on again. 

"Come here," he orders. Your body obeys before your brain has the chance to protest. You stand by his bedside, holding yourself in false pride and posture. Awkwardly you wait to see if he plans to speak, but he says nothing, so after a few minutes when he shuts his eyes you head for the door. 

"It wasn't your fault you know, all this. No matter what, Moriarty was going to make sure that bomb went off."

You can't move. A single tear trickles down your cheek. 

"Thank you," you whisper.

"It was good to see you," he says, much more softly than he has spoken all day. You turn and smile at him through your eyelashes. 

"You too."


	20. Enchanted Ch 20

It is three days later that Sarah comes bursting into your office demanding to see you. Mycroft had insisted you take a few days off work following the explosion, so you stayed at home for the weekend before turning up at work this morning. He didn't exactly approve, but you told him that if he could work then so could you. 

You are reorganising Mycroft's appointments for the next three months, after last week's events he is in a much higher demand, when you hear a commotion coming from the other end of the room. Someone in a fitted pinstriped suit pushes their way past the barrier of people before slamming their hands onto your desk. 

"Sarah? What are you doing here?"

"We need to talk," she says slightly out of breath.

"How did you know where to find me?" She rolls her eyes.

"I've trained half of the people in this building; of course I know where to find you!" She grabs an empty seat from a desk nearby and sits opposite you. A few of the other workers look questioningly at you so you mouth 'it's fine' so they do not call security and get back to their work. 

"You can't just barge into a government building and say you want a chat!"

"I'm worried Beth, I'm worried about Sima."

"What do you mean?" She clasps her hands together and tells her tale.

"I went to Scotland with my sister to visit an aunt. While we were there I thought I might as well drop in and see Sima." She takes a breath. "I didn't like the way she was behaving."

"Why? What did she do?"

"She was nervous, paranoid. She wouldn't let me in at first. Then, as it got closer to half five, she kept muttering about how her husband would be coming home soon. She forced me out of the house before he arrived. She said he didn't like visitors in his house without his knowledge and it was best if I left before he returned. Beth, what if he is hurting her?"

"Did you see any bruises or proof that he was?"

"No," she turns her nose up in the air, "but that type always knows how to do that sort of thing and not leave a mark. I don't trust him Beth, I'm sure she was scared." You pull a face.

"I will see what I can do." Sarah gives you a broad smile and kisses you on the cheek as a thank you for calming her nerves.

After she leaves, you timidly knock on Mycroft's door. 

"Enter."

"I have some papers for you to sign sir." You put them down in front of him and then hover at his desk.

"Is there something else?"

"Yes actually, um, I was wondering if I could take a look at my friend, Sima's, file."

"And why would you want to do that?"

"Sarah, a friend, saw her and said she seemed scared. She just wants to know if your men have picked up anything during surveillance."

"Ah," he says awkwardly, shifting in his chair.

"What?" you ask, knowing what you are about to hear is not the news you want.

"You see the thing is, after all the commotion of last week, and the fact that there had been no proof of any suspicious activity so far…" he shrugged.

"You haven't been watching her have you?" The expression on his face told you the answer to that question was no. You flop into the chair opposite your boss and rub your eyes with your index finger. You are exhausted. You haven't been sleeping well, not since the night at the pool. You have been having dreams, nightmares. Every time you shut your eyes you see the gun, hear the shot, then silence, before an explosion of bright light and noise that never fails to wake you up. Mycroft had certainly noticed the dark circles surrounding your eyes and he frown as he watches you trying to hide the stress of the situation.

"Beth, I really think you should take a few days off."

"No," you snap. How many times was he going to suggest this? What were you going to do in those days off? Socialise? Ha! You had no social life. He was just trying to avoid the subject that he had lost your trust by not keeping a promise that he would look out for Sima, and making you feel like you had failed her. Surely there was something you could do, but what? "Actually," you say suddenly as your train of thought makes a complete circle, "actually yes, could I have those days off? I, er, could do with the rest." Mycroft looks questioningly at you, this sudden change in your actions was hardly normal. He knew exactly what you were planning. Well good luck trying to stop me sir!

"Of course, take as long as you need. I will sort it out, you just go home and, er," he tilts his head to the side, "rest."

You don't even bother stopping off at your flat as you pull your car up to the exterior of the building you had heard so much about and yet not seen. You ring the doorbell and hold your breath. 

"Beth?!" John looks pleasantly surprised to see you at his doorstop.

"Hi John, could I come in?"

"Sure." He steps aside and allows you access into the corridor. "Just up there." He indicates the stairs. You walk up tracing the pattern in the pretty wallpaper, praying this was going to go the way you want, need, it to. 

On the landing, John goes ahead of you and leads you into the living room of the flat. Sherlock is sitting in a leather chair, his feet tucked underneath him, tapping away on a laptop. He doesn't even look up as you enter. John walks over to him with an unimpressed expression on his face, closing the laptop and taking it out of Sherlock's reach. 

"I was using- ah!" Sherlock pinches his side as he attempts to turn and look at where John is hiding the laptop, his laptop no doubt. 

John raises his eyebrows, "we have a guest," and nods in your direction. Sherlock finally acknowledges your presence and his whole demeanour changes. He is suddenly very still and weary, his eyes locked on yours and his lips slightly parted.

"Hello," he says quietly.

"Hello," you reply.

"Take a seat." John ushers you to the sofa and you gratefully accept the offer of tea. Sherlock does not take his eyes off of you as you hear John fussing in the kitchen. 

"How are you doing?"

"Yes, fine, good."

"And if I were to ask John how you were, what would he say?" you ask sarcastically. 

"Some sort of unnecessary drivel about how I need to take it easy and rest for a few days. All nonsense of course, I am perfectly fine."

"Of course you are," says John as he enters the room and hands you your tea. He pulls a sarcastic face at you. You grin at him, understanding the pain of having to put up with a Sherlock strop. "Come on Sherlock, it's time to change your dressing." Sherlock tries to look bored and annoyed at this but you can see by the slight curve of his lip that he was afraid, dreading the pain that was about to come. John goes to the cupboard in the desk and pulls out some bandages and cream, placing it on the table in front of Sherlock. John only has to glance at him for Sherlock to say,

"Oh alright!" and he leans forward to give John access to the wound. 

"Shirt!" You hear from the kitchen, as the sound of water filling a bowl comes from the other room. Sherlock awkwardly begins to unbutton his shirt. You deliberately avoid looking at him and take a sip of your tea. But as John re-enters the room, you instinctively look at him, catching sight of Sherlock's pale chest and toned body. You choke on your tea, managing to spill most of it all over you.

"Oh god sorry!" You jump up in embarrassment. You keep your eyes fixed on John as you ask, "is there a bathroom I could use?"

"Of course, just down that corridor and to the left, there should be a towel in the cupboard," he replies through chuckles. You quickly make your exit, hoping your cheeks aren't as red as they feel. In the bathroom you dab yourself down with a towel, making sure you give John enough time to finish and Sherlock to put his clothes back on. 

"Oh you're soaked through," said John sympathetically as you return, just in time to see Sherlock doing up the last buttons on his shirt. What John meant was 'oh I can see right through your top,' as thanks to the tea, the swirly pattern on your bra is now visible through your pale pink blouse. You pinch it and pull it forward in the hope that it wouldn't be so see through. 

"It's fine," you wave the comment away, although not without debating whether to put your coat on or not in the hope that John remembers the difference between your face and your chest. 

"Hang on a minute; I will get you one of Sherlock's pyjama tops."

"Why mine?!" Sherlock says, unimpressed with the idea.

"Because, thanks to you, my clean washing has acid burns in it!" John exits the room, not waiting for a reply, leaving you and Sherlock alone. 

"So this is your flat," you say as a rubbish conversation starter.

"Yes." Well that failed. You look around and take the place in properly for the first time. The Victorian style completely contradicted with all the modern science equipment that covered every surface. It suited Sherlock's personality perfectly.   
Sherlock picks up a violin from the floor beside him and rests it on him knee like a cello.

"You still play!"

"Only when I am thinking."

"Play for me?" you ask shyly. There is something boyish about his expression as he slowly brings the violin to his chin.

"What do you want me to play?" Your heart skips a beat; it was the same response he would give when you were together.

"Surprise me." He smirks before beginning to play a soft, elegant piece of classical music. Bach. You watch him intently and his eyes are fixed on you as he plays, a crooked smile slowing growing on your lips, that was being mirrored by the man opposite you. 

"Eh hem." Sherlock stops playing and the smile disappears as John makes his presence known. "Here." He hands you a grey t-shirt which you put on over the top of your wet blouse. It is far too big, but it would do. 

"You've changed your aftershave," you say as you breathe in the delicious scent of Sherlock on the top. Sherlock is serious again.

"They stopped making it. It has been a long time, things change." That wiped the smile off your face. You fiddle with the hem of your skirt as you clear your throat. "What does Mycroft want? This isn't a social call, you have come straight from work, and work means Mycroft."

"He doesn't want anything. Being a PA doesn't pay brilliantly, but I am sure I can cover the fee."

"What are you talking about?" You sit up straight, preparing for business.

"I want to hire your services."


	21. Enchanted Ch 21

Sherlock's persona changes completely. He goes from being an uninterested, bored child to a cat about to pounce on its prey. 

"I want the details quickly and succinctly."

You know the drill. You tell Sherlock everything you can think of about Sima and her husband, omitting nothing, remembering that any detail that seems meaningless to you could be crucial. Surprisingly you talk calmly and serious all the way through, as if you have detached your emotions from the case. Mycroft must be rubbing off on you.

"So I want you to come with me to Scotland," you finish up, "just so you can tell me if our suspicions are correct or not."

"Well," John bites his lip, "Sherlock has to rest for a while, so perhaps in a few weeks-"

"We shall catch the flight to Edinburgh on Wednesday," Sherlock interrupts John. "We will find a hotel and then make a surprise visit to your friend."

"Thank you!" you squeal, jumping up and pecking him on the cheek, which takes him by surprise. Your face reddens as you realise what you have done and you begin to stumble over your words. "I mean… yes, thank you… erm… I will book the flights tonight and, um… yes… so, I have to go now… bye." You hurry out of the door and down the stairs not waiting to be shown out. You pause in the hallway to take off the t-shirt Sherlock had unwillingly leant you. You fold it neatly and place it on the bottom step for someone to find later. There was no way you were going to go back and return it after that embarrassing exit! From upstairs you catch a part of a conversation and you cannot help but listen in.

"I didn't think you took domestic cases."

"I don't take adultery cases," Sherlock corrects. "If someone is getting hurt then it is a different matter."

"Uh huh."

"What?"

"Nothing!"

"There is a smirk on your face and you are staring at me, clearly you are seeing something that I am not."

"You sure you aren't just taking this case because she asked you to do it?"

"Don't be stupid John. It does not bother me who I am working for, just what the work is."

"Even though you blushed when she kissed you?"

There was a thud from upstairs and the sound of footsteps. Quickly you dart out of the door in the hope that you were not seen.

Being such a late booking the only flight you could get was at 6pm on the Wednesday Sherlock suggested. This meant you wouldn't be able to see Sima until the next day, when her husband was still at work. 

The flight itself was uneventful. It took just under an hour and a half to get to Edinburgh and for most of that time you chatted to John about what you and he had been up to since university. Sherlock, by his own insistence, sat alone on one of the side isles with his eyes shut and his fingertips pressed against his lips in the prayer position.

"Is he okay?" you ask, concerned that you made him come all this way when he should be recovering from his injuries.

"He is on a case, he needs to concentrate." John drops his eyes and fiddles with his fingernail as he asks, "how's Sarah? You say she asked you to do this but you didn't say how she was in herself. How have the last few years been for her?"

"Fantastic! She has her own business, a PA firm. She trains and provides secretaries to those who need them. She even trains some of the secret service, including me, but you don't know that." You wink and John gets the hint that that was a secret. 

"Is she… has she found… anyone?"

"No," you sigh, trying not to smile at the fact John had basically let slip he still thought about Sarah. I understand your pain, you think as you unconsciously glance at the unmoving consulting detective.

You are all exhausted as you arrive at a small hotel in the town in which Sima lives. Dragging your luggage behind, the three of you approach the desk. 

"Three singles please," you heave slightly out of breath. 

"I'm sorry ma'am but we only have one single and a double left." Inwardly you roll your eyes as you look at the other two. John pulls a face.

"I really don't want Sherlock wandering around in his condition."

"I am not an invalid!" John ignores Sherlock's protests, he was the doctor and therefore he would not be ignored.

"One of us will have to sleep on the floor."

"Well I am not sharing with John, he snores," Sherlock says to you, hoping you would get the hint.

"Well neither am I!" you reply defiantly. 

"Fine."

"Fine."

You stare at each other as the pair of you realise what you had inadvertently agreed to. Apparently you and Sherlock are sharing a room tonight and there was nothing you could do about it. Well, you could back down and share with John, but you are far too stubborn for that.

As you and Sherlock have your staring contest, John leans over the desk to the bewildered clerk and whispers,

"Yes, we will be taking those rooms, thank you."

You are now very thankful you had chosen to pack your pyjamas instead of your lace nighty. Although perhaps the pyjamas with the cartoon monkey on them was not the best choice. And you probably should have selected trouser bottoms rather than shorts, particularly for a trip to Scotland. 

Sherlock exits the bathroom in his navy blue t-shirt and grey trouser bottoms as you are making yourself a bed on the floor with the extra blankets you found in the cupboard.

"I could sleep on the floor if you prefer," Sherlock mumbles. You tilt your head to the side, the expression on your face a mixture of gratefulness and sympathy.

"No you can't. But thank you for offering." You snuggle up in your makeshift bed and Sherlock does the same. "Do you mind if I read for a bit?" you ask, waving the said book in the air. "It helps me to sleep."

"Please yourself," Sherlock replies. You smile a thank you and open to the bookmarked page. You have only read the first sentence before Sherlock speaks.

"You told John that you have been working for Mycroft for about a year, and training before that. What did you do before the secret service approached you?" You place your book in your lap and try and recollect the days when bombings were not part of your daily routine. 

"I worked in a pharmaceutical lab testing the blood of patients for various things. Not exactly solving crimes but it paid the bills."

"So you never got the chance to be a forensic scientist?"

"No," you sigh sadly, before giving Sherlock a sly grin, "I got the chance to be something so much better." Sherlock can't help but smile back at you, in a way you know he would never do if someone else was in the room. "Thank you," you add, "Mycroft said you recommended me for the job, I owe everything to you."

"You saved my life," he said quietly, "I think we are even." The pair of you drop your eyes simultaneously and giggle nervously. 

"And you! A consulting detective! Did you tell John you stole that name from me?" you tease. Remembering how you had come up with the name of Sherlock's intended made up job. "I am so proud of you, you know," you say seriously. "You have done so much good, you proved Carl was murdered. You should go laugh in the face of the policemen who thought you were wrong!"

"Everyone thought I was wrong," he snaps.

"I didn't."

Sherlock does not reply, and you, not wanting to start another argument, lay down and rest your head against the pillow.

"Goodnight Sherlock," you say as you turn off the lamp beside you.


	22. Enchanted Ch 22

The gun is hovering in front of you, but it was not pointing at Jim, it was pointing at you. You can hear Mycroft calling, or was it Sherlock, but either way his words are muffled and you could not make out what he was saying. Then, suddenly, Jim begins to laugh visciously, and the gun is swallowed by a mass of white light and noise as it explodes. You are falling as you see Mycroft, John, Sherlock lying dead on the ground.

"No!" you shout, sitting up in your make shift bed and digging your face into your hands. You begin to sob uncontrollably into your knees as you hear a rustle from beside you. Someone pulls you up by the arms and sits you on the edge of the bed, their arms around your shoulders.

"Hush, hush, hush," a deep voice says, "it's okay; it was just a dream, hush." You bury your face into their shoulder and cry for a while, their hushes slowly calming you down. When your sobs stop completely the person comforting you lays you down on the double bed and tucks you in, before getting in the other side themselves. With your eyes sore and heavy, you soon drift off back to sleep. 

*

You are reluctant to get out of bed as you wake from your slumber. You are unusually comfy as your pillow is surprisingly warm. You snuggle into it a little more and frown as you hear a heartbeat that was not your own. You feel a hand stroking your forehead and think, I must have fallen asleep on someone. It takes you a few seconds before that sentence clicks in your mind. 

You open your eyes and jump up, falling off the end of the bed. Quickly you stand up to hide any embarrassment you feel and rub your forehead as Sherlock looks at you with a puzzled expression, the book he was reading now resting upon his lap.

"Morning sleepy head," he says amused. 

"I didn't think you liked reading." You point to the book.

"I don't read fiction no, this is the life and works of Sir Bernard Spilsbury, he-"

"-was the greatest forensic scientist of his time, yes I know." You smile as you remember doing the project on him at university.

"And I had to do something to pass the time; I was unable to get up." He pulls a face and you screw up your nose.

"Sorry about that, you should have woken me."

"No it was… fine."

"Why exactly was I…" you ask awkwardly, before the memories of the dream make their way back to you. "Oh god, the dream, I am so sorry! I didn't think about it when I inadvertently said I would share with you."

"You mean you have nightmares often?" asks Sherlock concerned.

"I don't want to talk about it," you mumble, picking up your toiletries bag and head for the bathroom. 

Speedily you wash and dress in the bathroom and jump as you open the door to leave as Sherlock is standing there, blocking your way. 

"It was about the bomb wasn't it? You were talking in your sleep."

"I said I don't want to talk about it," you snap. You push past him and rummage through your suitcase for your phone. 

"It's perfectly natural you know," he continues, "especially if it was your first time firing a gun at someone."

"Sherlock, please, just shut up!" you yell in his face, catching him off guard.

"Let me just say this, John had nightmares after he came back from the war, I heard him screaming during the night."

"Did you share a bed with him too?" you ask sarcastically. 

"He got over it eventually after seeing a therapist. So perhaps you should-"

"I do not need to see a quack!" you bark, fuming at the suggestion. You didn't mean to be so harsh but you were sick of this conversation and wanted it to change, and quickly. Grabbing your bag you stomp out of the room and make your way down to breakfast before Sherlock has a chance to reply. 

John is already in the dining room munching on a bowl of cornflakes when you get down there. You take a seat beside him and begin to butter a few slices of toast. 

"Hey, how did you sle-" You glare at him. "Ah." You both return to your breakfast and say no more about it. A few minutes later Sherlock appears, now washed and dressed and ready for action. He ignores the food on the table and picks up the newspaper. You keep your eyes fixed on your plate.

"So," John says to break the silence. 

"So?" Sherlock replies looking sideways at you.

"What's the plan?"

"Oh," Sherlock was obviously expecting a different question. "Well, we can't go until this afternoon because we want to surprise her husband when he gets back from work, so you can go do what you wish until three o'clock."

"Come on then John!" You stand up and pull John by his arm as he tries to take a slurp of his tea. He makes a sort of muffled sound. "I want to go and have a look at the town," you say in reply to his facial expression.

"Right, yes, okay, let me just put my coat on." You knew John would never refuse a lady. "Coming Sherlock?" Sherlock blinks blankly twice at John before answering.

"I have no desire to go wandering about the town going who knows where to find absolutely nothing. I can tell you now what it is going to look like; it will look like outer London with fewer houses and more fields." John opens his mouth to argue back but you jump in just in time.

"Come on John, you know he's not worth it with this sort of thing." John sighs, tucks in his chair and waits as you do the same. 

"Sure you don't want to come?" asks John, the way a mother would ask a child. 

"Yes," Sherlock replies, deliberately not looking up but digging his face further into the newspaper he is reading. 

"Okay then," John mutters as the pair of you turn to leave.

John indulges you with a day of window shopping and sight seeing. First you take a 45 minute walk that is apparently popular with the tourists, winding through and over some of the town's best fields. The path leads you to the centre of town, where you spent the next few hours wishing you could afford such luxuries as clothes and books, but unfortunately your current earnings were being spent on rendering the services of a certain consulting detective. 

Feeling sorry that you had made John suffer the torture of shopping with a woman, you decide to treat him to a late lunch of fish and chips. 

The weather isn't too bad so you sit outside on a bench facing the green and yellow quilt of fields the town offered. The words Sherlock had said had been playing over and over in your mind all day and you found yourself staring at John whilst you considered them once more. 

"What?" John's voice jerks you back into consciousness. 

"Sorry?"

"You've been staring at me for the past five minutes, what is it? Have I got tomato sauce on my face?" You smile as John begins to wipe his nose as if to remove the non-existent said item. 

"No, I was just wondering," you clasp and unclasp your hands, "could I ask you something… personal?" John does not reply but inclines his head in a weary 'yes'. "You don't have to answer, and I will understand if you choose not to, but," you hesitate as you decide the best way to go about asking the question. "You had nightmares when you came back from the war didn't you?"

"How did you know that?" He did not ask nastily but there was a sharpness to his tone that told you to tread carefully. 

"I work for Mycroft Holmes, I have my sources." You aren't sure if John buys your lie, but he makes no attempt to challenge you. "I just want to know… what you did… to stop them." The stiffness in John's posture immediately melts into concern as he places his hand gently on your shoulder. 

"Beth, are you having nightmares?" You bite your lip and drop your eyes, you might as well tell him, he understands. 

"Ever since… Jim, I've had this dream. Every night I reply the explosion and every night I see…" You trail off, the image of your three boys dead haunting you. "I just want them to stop!"

"And you want to see if what helped me can help you."

"It's worth a try." John takes his hand off your shoulder and looks vaguely into the distance. 

"Honestly, the thing that saved me was Sherlock Holmes."You deflate slightly, you were hoping for some kind of wonder drug or something. "I was put on this earth to be in the army, you know that, so when I was injured and forced to leave, I had to return to the dull and repetitive life of a civilian, an ex-army doctor. Every night I would dream about the life that I wanted to go back to. Don't get me wrong, I saw some of the worse things that people do to each other and I would never wish that on anyone, but it was all I knew and suddenly it was taken away from me and I was just left empty, a hollow man walking like a ghost around the town watching other people getting on with their lives, it was isolating." He takes a breath. "And then I met Sherlock," he shrugs, "this eccentric, genius man that brought the thrill back into my life. The night I sho- when the cabbie was shot during the Study In Pink case, I slept soundly for the first night in months and I owe it all to him."

"So all I have to do is find my own Sherlock and he will save me," you say sarcastically, "simple." John tilts his head to the side and looks at you sympathetically.

"You sure you haven't already found him?"


	23. Enchanted Ch 23

At just before 3 o'clock you arrive back at the hotel. The two of you go up to your hotel room and John knocks gently on the door.

"Sherlock?" he whispers as he pushes the door open slowly. There is no response. You, uninterested in Sherlock's games, barge in and shout,

"Time to go Sherlock, come on!" Sherlock continues to lie still, stretched out on the bed. "I cannot be bothered with your nonsense Sherlock, get up." You slap his leg hard and he frowns as he swings his long legs round so he can stand up. As he slips on his jacket you take the time to apply some lipstick and mascara. You see Sherlock roll his eyes in the mirror. "We are on a case," you snap, "I need to be in the right attire. Sima is not going to believe I am on holiday with two men if I look like I haven't put any effort into my appearance." You click the lid of the lipstick shut and place it, along with a few other choice items in a small clutch bag. You then swap your flats with a pair of red heels before announcing you are ready. 

The three of you take a cab to your friend's house and pay the driver. Being the 'friend', you had to be the one to knock on the door, so you are at the front as you walk up the garden path. The front garden is in a sorry state. Sima never had green fingers, so neither must her husband. 

You knock three times using the brass handle and wait. There is a rustle behind the door before it is pulled back slowly and an exhausted looking woman stands behind it. 

"Yes?"

"Hey Sima!" You embrace her in an over friendly tone. "How are you?!"

"I'm fine thanks," she replies a little bewildered. "What are you doing here?"

"John – you remember John from university? Well, he has just come back from serving in the war and got in touch. He said he wanted to go away for a few days and he suggested I come." Sima glances at Sherlock.

"I know you don't I?"

"This is Sherlock, you remember him?"

"Oh yes," she replies bitterly.

"He and John share a flat now. It's such a small world!"

"Apparently," she murmurs. "Look, I'm sorry, it's just that now really isn't a good time. Sam will be home soon and-"

Sherlock begins to cough. He coughs once, twice, and then continuously like he is choking. 

"Are you alright?"

"I'm – so s–orry – I – couldn't possibly – get a glass of water – could I?"

"Yes of course." Sima steps back into her house and makes her way to the kitchen. Without invitation Sherlock enters, and you follow behind, although you don't approve of the way he got you inside. 

Sima seems agitated as she hands Sherlock the water, and again without invitation he takes it into the living room. 

"Thank you." You all take a seat on the sofa. Sima glances at the clock on the mantle piece before doing the same. 

"Please don't think me rude but Sam will be home soon and he doesn't like unexpected guests in the house."

"But I am an old friend," you say pleasantly, "surely I am the exception." Sima smiles but says nothing. Again she glances at the clock.

For a while you chat like two friends catching up. Sima appears at ease and even laughs a few times. But as the time gets closer and closer to five o'clock she becomes fidgety and nervous. 

"Please, my husband will be home soon-"

"Oh I'd love to see him," you interrupt. Yeah, see him so I can tell him what I really think of him!

"Is it any visitors he doesn't like or is it just your friends?"

"My husband is not a very sociable person," she says coldly. She has been frosty towards Sherlock all afternoon. "Most of his friends are colleagues so he sees them at work anyway."

"It has been such a long time since I've seen him, he probably won't remember me," you say light-heartedly, trying to keep everything civil.

"Well forgive him if he doesn't, he has a lot on his plate at the moment." Sherlock snaps his head round.

"Like what?"

There is a sound of keys in the doorway, followed by a door opening and closing. Sima jumps up and runs to the hallway where you hear voices drifting into the living room.

"Evening," says a man's voice.

"Hello, how was work?" Sima sounds worried and you hear footsteps approaching. 

"Nasty headache around lunchtime. I think Malcolm may have notic-" A small twig of a man stood frozen in the doorway gawping at the strangers in his house. "Who the hell is this?" he asks. The question was directed at Sima, but you decide to take charge.

"Sam! It's been forever! You do remember me don't you? Beth, Sima's friend. I was in the neighbourhood and I thought I might as well drop in." You offer your hand enthusiastically but he does not take it. He looks at it in fear and disgust and instead recoils into himself. He looks like he hasn't shaved for days; the hairs on his chin between stubble and beard length, and the bags under his eyes look unhealthy. He fumbles with his coat buttons, seemingly unable to undo them.

"Here," Sima helps him to take his coat off and drapes it over the sofa arm. 

"And you?" Sam points to the other two guests, whom he definitely did not recognise.

"Sherlock Holmes," introduces Sherlock. John then takes his turn.

"Dr. John Watson, hi." Sam grabs John by the collar and presses him up against the wallpapered wall. 

"Get out! We do not need your sort round here! You were not invited!" Sima runs to her husband's side and places a calming hand on his shoulders.

"He is an army doctor love, and he is just an old friend," she says timidly. Sam let's John go but not without eyeing him wearily. 

"I do not want him in my house." John turns to Sherlock who nods slowly.

"It's okay John, just wait outside for us." John obeys and leaves without saying a word. 

"That was not necessary," whispers Sima. 

"Go and make me some tea," Sam snaps, pushing his wife away. As she leaves Sherlock turns to you.

"Why don't you go and help?" You are reluctant at first, but as Sherlock refused to stop staring at you until you go, you begrudgingly get up and follow Sima to the kitchen. As you leave you hear Sherlock say,

"I always think women belong in the kitchen, don't you?" But you are unable to hear Sam's reply. 

You and Sima do not speak as you make the tea, except for you asking where the cups were kept. You each take two cups and bring them to where the men were seated. Sam is murmuring to himself, shifting his head from side to side and Sherlock is watching him intently. You hand Sherlock his tea and Sima does the same for Sam.

"What's this?"

"You asked for tea?" Sam looks blank for a split second before replying angrily.

"Well I've changed my mind! I don't want a drink, I am perfectly fine." Sima hushes him.

"Alright, alright, you don't have to drink it." She puts the untouched tea on the coffee table and takes a sip of her own.

"Sam was telling me about this area, apparently it is lovely and quiet," Sherlock says, still watching Sam closely. 

"Yes indeed it is. We love it here."

"I like the greenery. We sometimes go for walks along the-" Sam stares blankly for a moment, and then looks down at his hands in his lap.

"Yes?" Sherlock says encouragingly.

"What?"

"You were saying where you went for walks?"

"No I wasn't!" Sam begins to get agitated. "I don't like strangers in my house! I want you to leave!" 

"It's alright Sam, calm down." Sima tries to massage the back of his neck but he pushes her away hard, which angers you.

"I am not going to leave unless Sima comes with me," you say, standing up with your fists clenched.

"Why does she need to come with you?"

"Because I will not let her be abused any more!" 

There is a deathly silence, everyone is looking at you.

"Abused by whom?"

"By him! By that wretched husband of yours!" You point an accusing finger.

"I would never hurt a hair on Sima's head!" defended Sam. He immediately puts an arm around his wife's shoulders. You open your mouth to argue but Sherlock gets in there first. 

"They are telling the truth Beth, you misinterpreted the facts. I can tell you the truth, but I think it would be best if John is allowed back in."

"You know?" asks Sam in a very small voice. Sherlock speaks very slowly and very calmly.

"Yes, and John can help you, just let me go and get him."

"Very well." 

Sherlock leaves the room, returning a few moments later with a frozen John, who glances wearily at Sam's fists before sitting down. Sherlock then begins is narrative.

"You clearly were not abusing your wife when you rejected my statement of women belonging in the kitchen. Most abusers have archaic opinions, and jump at the chance to talk with men with the same views. You, however, did not, so I began to look for another reason for your obvious anxiety. You are not well, are you Sam? You have suspected as much for some time. But you have been afraid to go to the doctors, like so many others, for fear of what they might find. Ignorance is bliss or so they say. The way you reacted when John introduced himself as a doctor told me that much. But let me tell you that if I am right with my diagnosis, and I am always right with my deductions, then you do not want to ignore this. I may not be a doctor, but I know almost every variation of disease, illness and virus known to man, and how to recognise them, so I am pretty confident. I believe you are showing early signs of schizophrenia. The headaches, the inability to undo buttons, the mood swings are all symptoms. You talk to yourself too, but you don't know that you are doing it until someone tells you. And you stop mid sentence as if you have never been talking at all. Schizophrenia is a perfectly treatable illness. John?" Sherlock leans back, giving John the chance to take the floor.

"Sherlock is right; if you are suffering from these symptoms then you need to get yourself checked out by a professional."

For the next forty five minutes John talks of the tests and treatments associated with the condition. All jargon you didn't fully understand but that didn't matter; this information was not for you. Before you leave Sima throws her arms around each of you in turn. 

"Thank you, you may have just saved my husband."

"If you ever want to talk here are my details." John hands her his card and the couple show you to the door. 

As you walk searching for a cab back to the hotel you feel a great weight lift off your shoulders. 

"Thank you Sherlock," you whisper, barely audible. You want to hug him, kiss him, something to express the gratitude you felt. But nothing was enough. "Just, thank you."


	24. Enchanted Ch 24

The day after your flight home you are back at work, more at ease than you had been for weeks. Mycroft had most definitely noticed a difference in you. 

"Did you make use of your time off?" He inclines his head and raises his eyebrows.

"Yes sir, thank you."

"Good." He says nothing more and neither do you. He did not need to know the details, it was enough that you were back to your normal self and able to work fully focused again. 

You are now at home with a bowl of cookie dough ice cream in front of your computer checking all your social networking sites. 

Sarah has poked you, click here to poke back.

This girl is never going to give up on this war! Well neither were you.

Poke back.

Since you are there, you decide to check your emails. You have a work account that you check everyday of course, but you rarely look at your private one. You sign in and begin to delete all the junk mail that has clogged it all up. You click delete without really paying attention after a while as there were so many. You then do a double take, because that last email address seemed to trigger something in your mind. You go into the deleted folder and sure enough there is an email in there that you didn't want to throw away. It was from Sima. 

Hey Beth, I just wanted to say thank you again for what you did. Sam has got a doctor's appointment for Tuesday, I just thought you should know. We intend to fight this. I was going through the attic this morning looking at some of my old stuff and I came across this photograph. I thought you might like to see it. I will keep in touch, properly this time. Love Sima x

You open up the attachment, dreading the sight of yourself as a teenager. But as the image loads you catch your breath. In the photo were six people, all grinning like mad. On the left was Sima, her arm resting on – Jim's shoulder. You open the photo in a cheap knock off photoshop software you have and crop him out before you have the chance to think about it. He was not going to ruin your memories. With him gone you are able to take a second, better look at the photograph. It was obvious you had cropped it, as Sima was now leaning against the frame of the image, but that didn't matter. There was a young, naïve smile on her face and a flower clip in her hair that pushed her fringe out of her face. Next to her was John and Sarah, their arms around each other casually. John stood in a simple t-shirt and jeans whereas Sarah had gone for a beautiful fitted dress, showing off her curves. Their heads were just touching; they looked like the perfect couple. Then, next to Sarah on the right side of the photograph, was you. You and Sherlock. You trace your fingers over the image as the memories you had not allowed yourself to think about come back to you. Sherlock stood just behind you, hiding as much of himself as he could. He hated photographs but you had begged him just this once to have his photo taken so he had begrudgingly agreed. As you were posing for the photograph you had felt Sherlock's arms wrap around your waist. You placed your hands on his and squeezed them and he had pulled you closer and kissed the top of your head. 

This photograph had been taken at one of the few times all six of you were together. It tended to be the three girls or a girl and her boyfriend. But it was Sarah's birthday and this was what she had wanted, her girls and their men (so she could invite John mostly), going out for a meal. It was nice. In fact it was perfect. 

The sound of your phone ringing brings you back from memory lane. 

"Hello?"

"Hey Beth, it's Sarah."

"Hey you, what's up?"

"You know that event my company is organising tomorrow – you are coming aren't you?" she asks suddenly, diverting from her train of thought. 

"Of course I am, I come every year!"

"Good. Well, I want you to invite Sherlock and John. I want to thank them myself." You had told Sarah about Sima's situation the moment you had got back to the hotel. She was relieved when she heard Sima wasn't being hurt and has already asked you to pass on her thanks to the detective. 

"Er, sure, but I don't know if it is really their thing."

"Just go ask them! You know you want to see Sherlock again," she teases.

"Shut up, it's not like that."

"Yeah whatever," she laughs, "now go! Go!"

"Alright fine, I am hanging up on you now."

"Bye!"

"Bye."

No. I will call. I will not drive all through London just for them to reject the invitation. You spy your keys out of the corner of your eye and you feel the urge to go to them. No! Stop it! You turn your back on them trying to ignore them calling to you, but slowly you find yourself turning back to them again. You cave in.

"Damn it!"

*

You ring the bell of 221b and a sweet old lady opens the door. 

"Hello."

"Hi," you smile, "is Sherlock or John in?"

"It is rather late for a client," she says wearily.

"Oh I'm not a client, I am-" what am I? "I am just a friend."

"Oh I see," her eyes widen, "yes John is upstairs." She lets you pass. "Such a sweet boy, you made a good choice. Once you get used to Sherlock-"

"No, no," you interrupt, "it's not – I'm not – I'm just a friend."

"Of course you are dear," she winks. You wonder how many women John had brought back here for this lady to make this assumption. You head up the stairs and push open the door, almost hitting Sherlock on the face as he was taking his coat off the hook on the other side. 

"Oh sorry!" you exclaim, embarrassed. Sherlock swings his coat on in one swift move. 

"That's quite alright," he says briskly.

"Erm, an old lady let me in," you say awkwardly.

"Yes that would be Mrs Hudson. She's out landlady and basically Sherlock's mother." Sherlock rolls his eyes. "How can we help you?" John asks pleasantly.

"I was just passing (lie) and remembered Sarah wanted me to pass on a message (half true) so I thought I might as well do it in person (half true)." Sherlock fiddles with his collar.

"I am going out."

"It will only take a minute," you say, not wanting him to leave just yet. Sherlock hesitates and then nods his head as an indication for you to get on with it. "Sarah wants to invite you to a charity event her company is organising tomorrow." You hand John a leaflet Sarah had given you a few months back. "They do it every year to encourage more business and I always go. The theme is gothic."

"Gothic?" John laughs. 

"Well, it's being held at a castle so it kind of works. You can do what you like with the theme, but it has to be reasonably smart. There will be food and drinks, a dance floor, all the usual stuff."

"No."

"Sherlock!"

"I don't do events." His fingers curl in disgust as he speaks. 

"Oh please. Sarah wants to thank you for what you did in person. And she wants to see you again after all this time."

"Yes of course we will be there," John says, looking sternly at Sherlock. 

"It seems I have no choice in the matter," says Sherlock unhappily. "Fine. Now, if you'll excuse me, Molly just rang to tell me there is a fresh body in the morgue. Time is of the essence!" He picks up a mass of blue fabric and ties it around his neck. You freeze as you recognise it instantly. It is the same scarf you had bought him all those years ago. Your hand drifts to your neck, clutching the necklace you still wear every day. 

Sherlock notices the change in you, and you can see he has realised why as his eyes go from his neck to yours, where they stay transfixed. Some seconds go by where the two of you are just staring at each other. 

John clears his throat and Sherlock blinks twice bewildered. He turns and feels his way out of the room as if he has lost the gift of sight, his fingertips tracing over the chair, the wall, the door as he passes. John looks at you with an expression of confusion on his face, but you are only able to respond with a similar look of mystification. You allow a short time to pass before you make your own exit.


	25. Enchanted Ch 25

It is the night of Sarah's event. You arrive early to lend a hand with last minute preparations as always. Slowly people filter into the hall and claim their tables dotted around the edge. You chat to a few people you recognise, and some you do not, but every now and again your eyes drift to the door, willing the arrival of Sherlock and John. 

Sarah comes up to you all flustered.

"Oh god I am so nervous! I haven't done anything this big before. What if it all goes horribly wrong? I could lose all my business!" This last minute wobble was not uncommon.

"Sarah, you have quadruple checked every eventuality, like every year everyone is going to have a brilliant time and you will gain so much business you will have to turn people away. Now stop worrying and show these rich businessmen and women what you are made of!" You give her a nudge and she beams at you before disappearing to mingle with the crowd. As she leaves one of the waiter boys taps you on the shoulder.

"Excuse me miss, but Sarah said to come to you if there was a problem and she was unavailable or talking to guests." This was common procedure. You were the back up every year as Sarah trusted you and your instincts; she had trained you after all!

"Is there a problem?"

"Some of the food was burnt slightly and the cook wants to know if it is to be served." The boy is timid, wringing his hands as he spoke to you. You sigh crossly; these cooks were being paid to provide edible food not to cremate it! You will be interested to see if Sarah pays them the full amount after this. 

You go into the kitchen and spend fifteen minutes separating the edible from the charcoal. You leave the kitchen in a huff, it was too hot in there and you found it difficult not to give the cooks a good scolding. You stomp off to find Sarah when the sight of two men hiding in the corner of the room catches your eye. 

"You made it!" You throw your arms around John fondly, and then, after considering doing the same to Sherlock, you opt for a warm smile. 

"I promised we would, didn't I? You look stunning by the way," he adds, looking down at your outfit. You had decided to wear a mostly black outfit, with the theme being gothic and all. You wore a silk skirt that dropped to your feet, hiding the heels you wore that only appeared if you were walking. The silk gloves on your hands did not end until your elbow, and the fascinator on your head had three feathers that curled round. The corset that was restricting your breathing every so slightly, matched perfectly to the blue colour of your necklace that hung delicately around your neck. 

"Thank you." You then laugh as you take in John's costume. "A vicar – genius!"

"I thought so," he grins, putting his hands on his hips and posing like a model. "I'm afraid the best I could do with Sherlock was to make him wear a black suit." You had noticed Sherlock's lack of inspiration as he stood in a dark three piece suit and white shirt. He looked devilishly handsome. No he didn't, shut up brain!

"I do not dress up."

"What about that case where-"

"Shut up! That was different, it was for a case."

"You still dressed up." They were like a pair of children bickering. 

"To be honest I wasn't expecting him to come at all so that is a small victory," you say ignoring Sherlock's retorts. "He can deal with Sarah's wrath when she comes over."

"Where is she?" John asks casually, too casually, glancing around the room.

"God knows! We only just about avoided a disaster in the kitchen. She is always stressed at these things so forgive her if she seems a little uptight."

"Beth!" You hear your name being called from the other side of the room by a vaguely familiar voice. You turn and search for the source.

"Freddie!" You shrill as you spot your old colleague. He beckons you over. "Excuse me I'll be right back," you say to your current companions as you walk towards your old friend. You can't help but notice a stiffening of Sherlock's body as you walk away but the thought does not reach your consciousness. "Freddie," you say again, embracing the man you had once worked with at the pharmaceutical lab before the secret service. What a world away that seemed now. "It's so good to see you. How have you been?"

"Good thanks yeah, you? How is your mother?" It took you a moment to remember why he should ask that question. When you resigned your previous job, you gave the excuse that your mother had had a stroke and needed full time care.

"She's doing well as can be expected," you say with an air of false sadness in your voice. "Good enough for me to have a job now, working in IT – forged documents, and a carer comes to check on her when I'm not there." You try and avoid expanding on your lies by turning the attention onto him. "And how is little Eloise?"

"She's not so little anymore. She's twelve now, I adopted her last year."

"Really? Oh that's wonderful!" Eloise was the daughter of Freddie's wife by her first marriage. "And how is Michelle?" A pained look shot across Freddie's face.

"She was killed not long after you left, hit and run."

"Oh Freddie I am so sorry," you place a hand on his shoulder.

"It's okay, the pain doesn't exactly go but I've learnt to manage it." Silently you wish you had been there to comfort him, to be a friend to him and not cut him off like you had done. He seems to read your thoughts as he says, "there was nothing you could have done, and I didn't want to burden you when your mother was ill." Guilt chokes your heart. 

"I'm sorry I never called, even just to say hello."

"It's fine," he laughs to himself, which sounded forced, "Ellie even wants me to start looking for a new partner!"

"Well you know what they say, girls will be girls!"

"I thought it was 'boys will be boys'." You pull a face.

"Close enough!" Together you laugh, you are enjoying him company.

"Hey, I don't… suppose… you would want… to come over some time? Eloise always liked you, and it would be good to catch up."

"Yeah, yeah that would be nice." You smile at the prospect of a normal night round a friend's house. No guns, no bombs, no danger, and you liked Freddie, you always had. 

"I think your friend is trying to get your attention," whispers Freddie as he nods behind you. You glance around to see Sherlock staring at you, and who has probably been staring at you this whole time. 

"Oh don't mind him, he just doesn't like parties," you wave the thought away. You then see that Sarah had found her way to John, who was straightening up his clothes, and they were talking, both their cheeks slightly pink. 

"That's our hostess, isn't it, talking to your friend's boyfriend?" You giggle uncontrollably.

"Boyfriend? Both of those men are straight!" Freddie flushes. "But yes that's Sarah; would you like to meet her?"

"Well – I–"

Before he has the chance to answer you have him by the wrist and are dragging him across the floor to introduce him. 

"Sarah this is Freddie, Freddie this is Sarah." Sarah appears slightly annoyed at the fact that you had interrupted her conversation with John, and your smile becomes more and more awkward. 

"You know he is married?" Everyone turns to Sherlock. He points to Freddie's hand. "You can't really miss the ring. And he has at least one child-" Quickly you press your hand over his mouth to silence him, the blood rushing to your cheeks.

"I am so sorry Freddie," you murmur, not daring to look at him. Instead you push on your hand, forcing Sherlock to stagger backwards until he is out of earshot of everyone but yourself. Sherlock waits for you to speak first, innocence on his god forsaken face. "His wife – is dead," you say through gritted teeth. "He has adopted her daughter, not that it is any of your business. Anything else you want to add?"

"He is emotionally fragile, I can see why now; he would only break your heart."

"And you would know all about that wouldn't you," you snap back. A new expression masks Sherlock's face, one you are unable to decipher. 

"You do not care for him." You are too angry to reply. "Lo- Emotions are simple chemistry, your pupils did not dilate when you saw him, and your breathing did not incr-"

"Stop it!" you hiss, wanting to shout but not wanting to draw attention to yourself in a room full of dancing and music. "You-" you take a deep breath. "You will not do for me now, what you did not do for Sima all those years ago." You turn your back on him and head straight for the exit, not daring to look back. You can hear Sherlock calling for you, and by the sound of it he was almost definitely following you, so you quicken your pace. Out of your bag you find your keys and make your way to the car park. As you get into the driver's seat you can see Sherlock heading for you in the mirror. In a panic you fumble as you start the engine. The car rev's and you pull out of your space just in time as Sherlock's fingertips brush against the window as you drive away.


	26. Enchanted Ch 26

You kick your heels off the moment you get home, indulging in the feeling of a carpet massaging your toes. You head straight to the medicine cupboard and reach for the paracetamol, gulping two pills down with a mouthful of water. You then head for the fridge, as your gran used to say, brownies and milk are the best cure for any ailment with the heart. You seemed to be having a lot of those recently. You take your 'medicine' to the living room, turning on your CD player with your elbow as you pass. Adele begins to blare out, …should I give up or should I just keep chasing pavements even if they lead nowhere…, and you can't help but smile. You raise your glass as you take a seat on the sofa and say, "you said it girl! The ultimate question." 

Adele serenades you and it relaxes your tense muscles. You stretch out along the sofa and hum along to the music with your eyes shut. 

Was that a rattling? No, must be percussion on the CD. No, there it is again. You listen more carefully and wait as you hear a click and the sound of a door opening and closing softly. Someone is breaking into your flat! You dart to the door of your living room. You live in the upstairs of a maisonette and so the person had to climb the stairs before they were properly inside the flat. 

It was times like these that you wished you had a gun. Instead you take out the knife concealed in your outfit – working for Mycroft had encouraged you to always have something on you for protection, considering the danger that comes with the job – and you steady yourself against the wall. 

Seconds drag by as you listen to the sound of feet patting up the stairs. The door swings open and like a flash you pounce, pressing the blade into the neck of the intruder, not quite breaking the skin. 

"Beth, it's me, it's me!" You breathe a huge sigh of relief.

"Sherlock? What the hell do you think you are playing at? How dare you break into my home!" 

Sherlock had raised his hands to his head and was watching the knife you had not yet lowered.

"You wouldn't have let me in otherwise."

"Maybe that would be because I have nothing to say to you."

Adele is still playing in the background as you talk.

…I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited but I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it…

"Could you just put the knife down?"

"I am so tempted to jam this," you raise the knife ever so slightly higher to indicate that that was what you were talking about, "into your artery and watch you bleed out onto the floor." You slam the weapon on to the table and begin to pace a short distance back and forth. "What do you want?"

"To talk," he replies calmly and seriously, "about what I said." 

"You had no right to say the things you did. It was none of your business. You humiliated me!" Sherlock's hard façade falters slightly. "Freddie is a nice guy."

"But you don't like him like that. Like I said, emotion is just chemistry."

"You aren't seriously going to continue with this argument?" you say, finding it unbelievable that Sherlock found this appropriate, even after seeing how it upset you. 

"You gave no sign of finding him attractive in that way, there was no body language to suggest it."

You stand by the fireplace, creating quite a gap between you and Sherlock like a barrier, protecting yourself from him. Or were you hiding behind it?

"Maybe my body just doesn't give off those signs!"

"They do, I've seen them," he speaks very timidly, barely able to meet your eye, "every time you look at me." You feel your face go a deep crimson. This was not happening, this was not happening! "You still wear the necklace I gave you, you wear it every day."

"It's a nice necklace," you say with dignity, wrapping your fingers tightly around the object. "I like how people are jealous of it when I wear it." That was poor, Beth, really poor, your brain says to you. You shake the thought away. "Anyway, you still wear the scarf!"

"Yes. That's because it came from someone special." 

…I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be reminded that for me it isn't over...

You try and ignore the subtext in Sherlock's remark. You can't give in that easy! He has done so much wrong!

You rub your hands over your face. Your head hurt.

"Freddie is kind and considerate. He will always have time for me and won't put me second to his work. He would look after me." 

Sherlock takes a step closer to you and it makes you jump as the barrier gets smaller.

"I can do that!"

…Never mind, I'll find someone like you, I wish nothing but the best for you too…

"He would be there if I needed him, cheer me up when I am sad, calm me down when I am stressed!" 

He takes another step closer. 

"I can do all those things!"

…Don't forget me, I beg I remember you said…

"But can you though?! What if I've had a horrible day at work and you are in the middle of a really exciting case, would you still take the time to give me a hug and tell me everything will be alright?" 

He takes one more step and is now in your personal space. You can taste his sweet breath on your tongue. 

"I swear to you, I will do everything I can to make you happy." 

He places his hand on your cheek and your heart leaps out of your chest. He leans in ever so slightly.

…Sometimes it lasts in love but sometimes it hurts instead…

"You know," you say breathlessly, "Freddie might just be what I need."

"Mmhmm," is the only reply you get as Sherlock pulls you in for a kiss. Your brain is screaming to pull away, to stand your ground, but your body refuses to listen. You melt into Sherlock's arms as he presses his lips into yours. The kiss is soft and gentle, your head spins as you are engulfed by his sweet scent.

It only lasts a short time, like he is teasing you. You stumble forwards as he pulls away as you expected, and wanted, it to last longer. He chuckles as he catches you and you blush, looking up at him through your eyelashes.

"Who would believe it," you say dreamily, "Mr Sherlock Holmes falling for a silly girl."

"Well I haven't," he replies as he strokes the bare skin of your arm up and down. "I have fallen for a brave," he kisses your cheek, "intelligent," he kisses your other cheek, "beautiful woman who just so happens to work for the secret service."

"Hey," you raise a warning finger, "when it comes to work, my allegiance is with your brother. I have no intention of being fired because of you. I will not be your contact getting you information from inside, so if that's all you want me for then sorry buster but it isn't going to happen!" Sherlock pouts adorably. "You're so childish!" you laugh as you grab what is left of your brownie and squash it into his face. 

He is stunned momentarily; his eyes and mouth open wide, "I'm childish?" But then he wipes off the chocolate from his face with his fingers and lunges at you to return the favour. You dodge him and make a dash for the kitchen, but Sherlock's long legs are fast and he catches up with you in no time at all. He tackles you down and forces you onto the sofa, rubbing the brownie mush onto your face. You scream and struggle as he does it, but your attempts are weak, and soon there is more mixture on your face than him. 

As your giggles calm down you find yourself gazing into Sherlock's crystal blue eyes, and he is looking straight back at you, the corner of his mouth turned upwards attractively. 

"I love you," he whispers. 

You feel pin pricks in the back of your eyes as you manage to say, "I love you too."


	27. Enchanted Epilogue

"You know," says Mrs Hudson, who is on her second glass of wine, "Sherlock has really changed since you came along. He thanked me for all I've done for him the other day. I welled up!" You give her a one armed hug.

"Well he should have been doing that anyway!"

"I'm so glad he found you," she continues, taking another sip. "He needed someone I think. I mean, I know he has John, but John can hardly snuggle up to him on the sofa when he's having a bad day and make him believe everything will be alright."

That was true. It seemed that you were the comforter in the relationship, getting calls from John at ungodly hours saying 'he was at it again'. 'At it' being moping, feeling sorry for himself, sulking, all that sort of thing, and you were needed to get him out of his low state. It didn't take much. Mostly you would just sit with him quietly until he was ready to talk, and when he did you would let him rest his head on your lap whilst you spun his curls around your finger and give his ego a boost with a little encouragement. 

You glance around the room. Sarah and Sima are nattering away by the fireplace. John had eventually asked Sarah out after god knows how long, ("Not as long as you and Sherlock took!" Sarah would say,) and was here as his date, and Sima and Sam had come down for a visit after being invited by you and (after some persuasion) Sherlock. Sam, who was sitting on the sofa with John and Sherlock, already seemed significantly better. He was taking medication for his condition and had founded a group in his area for people with similar conditions that would meet once a fortnight in a local pub. 

You catch Sherlock's eye. Sam and John must be talking about something trivial as Sherlock seemed to be pleading with you to save him from the situation. You give him an innocent smile as you turn back to Mrs Hudson; he wasn't going to get out of it that easy. 

"It's a shame Mycroft couldn't make it."

"Well I don't think he is in Sherlock's good books at the moment." You pull a face. "Sherlock hasn't forgiven him for making me work in Manchester over Christmas."

"Ah yes I remember, Sherlock threw a Christmas pudding out of the window." You roll your eyes, Sherlock could pull such tantrums. "And Lestrade and Molly, neither of them could make it."

"Mmm," you reply as you take a sip of your coke. Sherlock had remembered you didn't like alcohol. 

Lestrade, you knew, was spending time with his wife, trying to keep their marriage together. Sherlock had introduced you to Lestrade when he came to Sherlock's flat to offer him a case while you were there. It took some persuading before he believed Sherlock had a girlfriend, but once he had come round he had been quite friendly. You liked him, even though Sherlock would never admit it, he had some lovely friends. 

Molly was another matter. You had met when Mycroft sent you to Bart's to collect a pathology report, and she had made it clear that she hated you. You had tried to be nice and polite, but she could barely bring herself to look at you. Sherlock just shrugged it off but when you had told this to John, he explained to you that Molly was practically in love with Sherlock, and had been since before you and he were reunited so she was bound to get bitter. He had insisted, though, that if you gave her time she would come round. 

"Photograph time!" calls Mrs Hudson as she ushers everyone into the centre of the room. She pulls out the digital camera you and Sherlock got her for Christmas and fumbles as she tries to work out what to do. "Right… so… you look through here… and press this button…" She accidentally takes a photo of her shoes, "and it's on the screen already! Oh technology is so clever!" She addresses everyone in the room. "Come on everyone. Sherlock!" Sherlock had tried to sneak his way into the kitchen without being noticed. You grab him by the arm and drag him to where you were previously standing. 

"It will just be this one, I promise." His eyes narrow momentarily before he takes position behind you for the photograph. 

You watch with a half smile as everyone positions themselves. On the far left is Sima, her arm resting on Sam's shoulder. There is a content, almost all knowing smile on her face, and her fringe is now long enough to tuck behind her ears so it is out of her face. Next to her is John and Sarah, their arms around each other casually. Their heads were just touching; Sarah shoots him a quick smile before facing Mrs Hudson and her camera. Then, next to Sarah, giggling away at the silly jokes John is whispering, is you. You and Sherlock. Sherlock stands just behind you, hiding as much of himself as he can. As you pose for the photograph you feel Sherlock's arms wrap around your waist. You place your hands on his and squeeze them tight, and he pulls you closer so you feel his body heat radiate from him as he kisses the top of your head. 

"After three say 'happy new year'," instructs Mrs Hudson. "One, two, three…"

"Happy New Year!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end of part one of this fic, just go to the next chapter to read part 2 Screaming For Two!!


	28. Screaming For Two Ch 1

God, how long can two minutes be? Seriously! It felt like a year had gone by already! Your impatience was making you dizzy again so you perch yourself on the arm of the chair and try to breathe through the headache. You had already taken a ridiculous amount of paracetamol at work and you didn't want to risk taking too much. You look around the flat, the living room needed to be tidied and you could just about see the pile of dirty crockery in the kitchen. It was still strange to think that 221b was now your home. You had moved in not long after John had moved into Sarah's. You had suspected Sherlock would ask you to live with him, considering how much he liked company (although he would never admit it), but it was still a nice surprise when he had offered. 

You lurch forward, thinking you were going to be sick, but the feeling soon passes and you are left sitting with your hand on your belly. That kept happening to you, the first time was at work a few days ago. 

Mycroft was giving you a list of things he needed done, and as always your were noting them down as he spoke. 

"I need you to go to the home office and collect file #294750395 from the Home Secretary, then sign for a delivery that should be arriving at," he checked his watch, "eleven o'clock. Then you need to get Cameron to the meeting at half past, knowing him he will be late without a little push."

In your haste to get everything down, your pen slipped from your fingers and you quickly dive to pick it up. The motion makes your head spin and your stomach turn, and you have to grip onto the back of the chair to stop yourself from losing your balance. 

"Are you alright?"

"Yes fine." 

"You don't look too good."

"I'm fine." You breathe through the nausea and the feeling goes as quickly as it came. You make another attempt to pick up your pen and continue to write up your instructions for the day.

A similar event today during your tea break had encouraged you to go straight to the chemist after work. 

You check your watch again. 

5…4…3…2…1…

You do not hear the sound of footsteps coming from the kitchen. Nor do you see the reflection of a shadow in the mirror. You are only aware that you are not alone in the flat when a large gloved hand forces itself over your mouth. You swing your elbow round and catch the intruder on the nose, stunning him. You then use press your foot against his leg and use it to propel yourself forwards and out of his grip. Without stopping you run to the door as fast as you can. You try and scream but another pair of strong arms takes hold of you and a mass of cloth is forced over your mouth and stifles any noise escaping from your mouth. The cloth smells of some sort of chemical, you hold your breath. 

You struggle as your arms are held behind your back with a force that you could not compete with. And then a man wearing camouflage print trousers and a black puff jacket strolls into view. He looks at you up and down before picking up the plastic stick that you had dropped when you had been jumped. You try and lurch at him but you were held back. There must have been at least two people that you could not see. The man you were watching inspected the plastic and pulled a nasty, evil smile. He slowly turned the stick round so both you and his men could see. Your heart leapt. Two blue lines are the last thing you see before your lungs give out and everything begins to go black. 

"Be careful boys," the man bared his teeth, "this girlie is screaming for two."

*

"You can't just walk into a crime scene and flash my badge thinking it will give you some authority. It is not an all access pass! Sherlock, are you even listening to me?" Lestrade was standing with his hands on his hips whilst he waited for Sherlock to open the door to his flat.

"Hmm?" Sherlock murmured as the door clicked open and he walked in, not inviting Lestrade in, but Lestrade followed anyway. 

"I can't keep bailing you out like this Sherlock, I could lose my job, and then where would you be?"

"No you won't," said Sherlock confidently. "The home secretary still owes me a favour."

"Of course he does," Lestrade sighed as he rubbed his eyes. It had taken two hours to convince the leading investigator on a case that Sherlock was not a murderer returning to the scene of the crime with a stolen police badge. Lestrade took a step forward in the living room and bumped into Sherlock's back as he realised he had stopped suddenly in his path.

"Something's wrong," Sherlock whispered, gliding around the room with his hands spaced out in front of him. 

"What are you talking about?" Lestrade moaned, fed up with Sherlock's nonsense. "She is probably just working late."

"Mycroft knows better than that."

"Maybe she went to the shops," he shrugged.

Sherlock sniffed the air twice. 

"Chloroform." His eyebrows furrow together. "Beth?" he called, running round the flat and searching every room. 

"I'll call John and see if she is at Sarah's," says Lestrade, trying to calm the panicking Sherlock. John picked up after the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hello, John? It's Lestrade. Is Beth with Sarah?"

"No, Sarah is working late tonight, why?" Sherlock had dropped to the floor and had pressed his nose against the carpet. 

"Four, there were four of them. Three held her and one, probably the leader, observed… he stood here…" He was mumbling out loud to himself and frantically darting back and fourth. "How did they get in? The door wasn't damaged, I would have noticed…" He disappeared into the kitchen. 

"We think Beth has been kidnapped. Well, Sherlock does, and that's good enough for me," Lestrade told John. 

"Oh God. Give me ten minutes, I'm coming over."

Lestrade found Sherlock hanging out of the window in the kitchen. Thinking he was about to do something stupid he grabbed Sherlock by the waist and pulled him back in. Sherlock's eyes were burning red. 

"Scratches up the drain pipe. They must have got on the rooftops down the street and jumped across the buildings until they got here, then shimmied down the drain pipe and climbed through the window here. If they used chloroform on her though they must have left through the front door, there is no other practical way." Without even glancing at Lestrade, Sherlock disappeared down the stairs and out the front door. Lestrade caught up with him crouched over the edge of the pavement with his magnifying glass pressed against his eye. 

"Medium sized tyre marks. Must have been a van. They're inconspicuous too so no one would have registered it as odd."

"Sherlock?" John was standing beside Lestrade with the same sympathetic expression on his face. Sherlock stood up and inclined his head. John gave him a quick, manly pat on the shoulder. "She'll be alright."


	29. Screaming For Two Ch 2

A jerky movement wakes you. Your brain immediately tells you that you are in a vehicle of some sort. You keep your eyes closed and very slowly try and move your limbs. The restriction you feel tells you both your hands and feet are bound. The material your cheek is pressed against is cold and hard, so you can't be on a car seat, floor, or boot, because that would be carpeted. No, you must be in the back of a van, driving to who knows where. 

Well don't panic girl, don't panic! That won't help the situation. No doubt you are being watched so there is no point trying to escape at this point. No, you need to rely on your other senses.

If you could work out where you are you could maybe get a message out or something. You lie completely still and listen very carefully. At first all you can hear is your heart beating in your ears, but after some steady breathing you are able to make out the sounds of the traffic.

Left… roundabout… bumps… right… railway crossing! That will be useful if they stop soon. Of course we could go on for hours and then you would have to 'wake up' or else they'd suspect you were faking it…

But there was no need to worry. After a few more turns the vehicle slows and comes to a halt. You hear the door open and someone forces a bag over your head before throwing you over their shoulder and carrying you outside. There was a small gap so that you could see your feet out of the bottom of the bag, and this snippet confirmed you suspicions as you catch a glimpse of a white van as you are picked up. You feel the cold wind whip across your back as you are carried into, what you presume, is a building, as footsteps begin to echo and you are sheltered from the elements. You are dropped to the floor hard, and you almost give out a yelp. 

"Get her tied up, she will be waking up soon." The voice was the same one from your apartment. You feel your body being dragged into a chair and the rope holding your wrists together is undone, but only so more rope can be tied tightly around your arms, stomach, and legs to the chair so that they cut into your skin. Well, it was now or never. 

You rock your head back and open your eyes, although the darkness caused by the bag on your head makes it look like they were still shut. You take a deep breath and shriek an ear piercing scream, and the hand they had not yet tied down tried to pull it off. The moment your hand goes up, three hands force it down and rope is pressed into your skin. This time you do yelp, struggling as much as you can to try and keep the bondage as loose as possible. When it is complete, and your freedom of movement had been completely removed, the man from your flat beams down at you, bringing his face closer to yours with every second. 

Just remember your training Beth.

You waited for him to speak first, but not without staring daggers as you refused to break eye contact with him. You will not be intimidated. 

His eyes address you; finding you more and more curious as the seconds go by. It makes you feel like an artefact in a museum rather than a captive in his care. His expectant expression fuses into a puzzled one as you watch him carefully. 

"No 'why?' No 'what do you want with me?' No pleads for your life?" You say nothing. "Fascinating." He tilted his head to the side in a vaguely familiar reptile manner before turning away. "Sid, set the equipment up," he instructed one of the men. These other men seemed more concerned about their identities as they were wearing ski masks and black clothing whereas their leader didn't seem to care at all. He turned his back on you and you watched as his team set up what eventually became clear to be a video camera and computer, along with complicated IT stuff that you didn't know the use of.

Oh God, they are going to shoot me and post the video online. They are some sort of radical rights group that want to protest against the government. I would have thought they would have kidnapped someone higher up the chain than me though.

*

"I'll make the tea," offered John as the three men went back upstairs. Sherlock, who could not keep still, had another search around the flat for anything he had missed. John handed Lestrade a mug of PG Tips. 

"I should call The Yard…" Lestrade started, not sure if he should say it. 

"Sherlock would hate them getting in the way. No offence," John added quickly. 

"None taken," Lestrade replied, far too used to Sherlock's antics to waist time being bothered about what he thinks of his employers. 

"Broken another computer, eh Sherlock?" John chuckled. Sherlock, who was crouching behind the sofa, shot up.

"What?" John tapped the laptop on the coffee table. 

"This is a new laptop, what did you do to the last one?" Sherlock very slowly and very deliberately rose and glided to the computer.

"My laptop is in the bedroom."

"Is it Beth's?"

"No," Sherlock and John said together. Sherlock pounced at the mysterious object and, after inspecting it for any mysterious wires or triggers, opened it. The screen lit up immediately to a two way webcam conversation, but the other party was not online. 

"What is it?" asked Lestrade.

"A ransom note." Sherlock's hands tightened into fists. "Lestrade, I want you to set up something so that we can record everything that happens on this screen."

"I'll call in a favour." He dialled a number on his phone, aware that technology was not his forte.


	30. Screaming For Two Ch 3

You take the opportunity to look around the small room you were being kept in. The walls were stone cold grey with no windows, and there were only yourselves occupying it. The only identifying thing about this room was the wall in front of you. The door you must have come through had the appearance of a large garage door. It was just as grey as the rest of the place, but it was unusual. 

A storage locker! You were in a storage locker! If only you could get a message out. 

"You are being very quiet," said the leader man as he lifted a bottle of water to your lips. You snap your mouth shut and he laughs. "Very wise." He takes a swig from the bottle himself to show there was nothing that there shouldn't have been in there. He offers it to you again and gratefully you swallow it down. "There, that's better."

"What do you want from me?"

"You're bait of course." His voice is smooth and sleek, no doubt women found it alluring. 

"For who?" The man smiled a dazzling smile; you could feel the confidence radiating from him, and your confidence shrinking away.

"Mr Holmes." You laugh before you could stop yourself.

"Mr Holmes will not come for me; you are wasting your time." The thought of Mycroft dropping everything to save a simple secretary was laughable, you could easily be replaced. 

"Behave yourself young lady. You see that little white bag over there," he grabbed you by the cheeks and forced you to look to the left. "It is full of needles, syringes, and a powerful knock out drug. I am more than willing to sedate you if you get rowdy."

"Please," your heart sinks as fear overcomes you, "I am pregnant." The man was so close now that you could feel his hot breath against your ear. He speaks so softly that it almost made what he said next sound like a good thing, which just made it all the more frightening.

"I once strapped a ten year old boy to a jacket made of semtex for ten hours. You think telling me that will make a difference? Because it won't." You are unable to hide the shock on your face and the gasp you let out pleases your captor. 

"I will be good I swear."

"Good."

"Ready sir," said a gruff voice by the camera. One of the masked men stood there, awaiting instructions. 

"Very well, let's get this show on the road."

The leader stood beside you, in the centre of the room, looking directly down the camera lens as the red light switched on. The masked man clicked his fingers as a signal to start. He turned the computer around and to your horror you see Sherlock staring back at you. 

No, this isn't right, this is the wrong Holmes! I am the trusted secretary of one of the most powerful men in Britain, but I am bait for Sherlock? 

The man was talking but you weren't listening. You needed to focus.

*

"It's all ready for you sir," said Alex, the computer specialist from Scotland Yard that Lestrade had called. He quickly showed Sherlock what to do if he wanted to record anything on the screen. When Sherlock had mastered it, he tried (not very politely) to usher him out of the door but John held him back.

"He is the only one that understands this stuff, perhaps it's best if he stays, just in case." Alex looked horribly uncomfortable under Sherlock's gaze, but a swift nod gave him permission to stay.

"I can try and trace the computer being used when it goes online." At that suggestion, Sherlock perked up, allowing him to connect his own laptop to the one provided by the intruders to do just that. 

Alex was left to set himself up while John tried to encourage Sherlock to eat something, with no prevail. But a cry from the living room caused everyone to rush back.

"Mr Holmes, John, Sir!"

The computer screen was no longer full of snow, instead a man they did not recognise was grinning at them. He was dressed in soldier attire and was standing to attention. Behind him Beth was sitting very still, tied to a chair and looking directly at the camera. Sherlock forced himself to look away from her, it hurt to much to see her like that.

"Mr Holmes," he began, "how good it is to seen you. I have heard a lot about you, I feel like I know you."

"Then you have the upper hand for I do not know you," said Sherlock calmly.

"Sebastian Moran, sir, Palace Court Regiment."

"Don't you think it is rather stupid to tell me who you are?"

"You would find out eventually. Besides, I will not be convicted, if you ever catch me that is."

"Oh I will find you, and if Beth has been harmed I will kill you." Sebastian cackled. 

"I would love to see that! But I think it is unlikely. Ask your Johnny boy." Sherlock turned to his army solider by his side.

"Sebastian Moran is one of the best. He would kill you miles before you would even see him. I thought you retired," he said to the computer.

"Retired looks better than works as a hit man don't you think?"

"Someone has hired you to do this?"

"No, no!" Sebastian laughed at the idea. "No, I am doing this for myself."

"I suppose you want money," said Sherlock unimpressed.

"Come now Mr Holmes, I was told you were a genius! What are the top three motives for murder?"

"Money, love and revenge," he replied instantly.

"Very good. Now, I think I have made it clear that I am not interested in money, and do I look like a man in love?"

"So it is revenge."

"Indeed."

"Who-"

"You took something of mine, so I have taken something of yours." He indicated Beth behind him. Sherlock looked like he would have taken a swing at him if they were face to face. "Come and get her Mr Holmes, she needs her Romeo. Get ready for the performance of a lifetime. I have high hopes for you." He gave a final salute before ending the call.

Sherlock stared at the screen for several seconds before turning to Alex and barking, "replay it, replay it all, I need to watch it again." Sherlock fidgeted impatiently as Alex fumbled with his computer. The scene they had just witnessed started again, and Sherlock leaned in close to the monitor, searching the background for any hint as to where they were. "There has to be something," he was mumbling under his breath.

"Any luck with the computer address thingy?" Lestrade asked Alex as he waited for Sherlock's eureka moment.

"No sir, the IP address was bouncing all over the place. They know what they are doing I can tell you that!"

"Wait a minute," John held out his hand absentmindedly, "can you rewind it again please?" He picked up his black notebook and pen and began to jot down a series of marks on the page. 

"What are you doing?" asked Sherlock, towering over John's shoulder, annoyed that he missed something.

"Watch Beth." Everyone automatically did so. "She's blinking Morse Code."

Sherlock looked at Beth on the monitor with a fond smile.

"That's my girl," he murmured. 

"What did she say?" asked Lestrade impatiently, getting everyone back to the job in hand. 

"Storage… locker… garage… sized… white… van… four… men… five… minutes… from… railway… crossing…"

Sherlock shot into life, praising aloud the brilliance of his girlfriend. "I knew she wouldn't let me down, she wouldn't go down without a fight, Beth you genius…" He climbed up his bookshelf and found the map of London he was looking for. He opened it up and studied it for a moment or two before grabbing a pen and drawing a large circle on it with 221b right at the centre. "We need to find every storage locker big enough to hold four men and a hostage within this area," he tapped the circle he had just drawn. "We then narrow it down to ones close to railway lines and so on."

"I can be of assistance," piped up Alex. "I have software that will allow me to find all the storage lockers in a given area within a few minutes."

"Get on with it then!" cried Sherlock.

Alex tapped a few buttons and soon red dots began to appear all over the map on the screen. 

"What are they close to?" Alex asked, his hand hovering over the keyboard ready for the information. John listed everything Beth had told them and soon only one place was left.

"Let's go," Sherlock said, charging out the door.

"Should I…" begins Alex.

"You'd better come with us," sighed Lestrade, "just stay out of his warpath." 

Lestrade drove the four of them to the location, Sherlock trying to make him go twice the speed limit. ("I'm a police officer Sherlock, that doesn't mean I get to pick and choose which laws I want to follow!") Lestrade was about to pull into the courtyard of the collection of storage lockers when Sherlock insisted he parked outside. He then walked ahead of the others keeping his eyes low.

"Sherlock, what are y-"

"This one," he whispered suddenly. Lestrade and John automatically pull out their guns but Sherlock could see in their faces that they were unsure. "Tyre marks in the gravel. A van pulled up very close to this locker and put something inside – or someone."

The men readied themselves as Sherlock placed his hand on the handle of the door. John nodded and Sherlock opened it. They went charging in waving their weapons in front of them.

"Police!"

The room was empty.


	31. Screaming For Two Ch 4

"Is that it?" you ask as the man you now know as Sebastian ends the call. "Now we wait?"

The moment the call had ended, the men had burst into life and began to pack all their things away, although they did not touch the camera or laptop.

"Not at all my dear," Sebastian smiled as he pressed a gun to your temple. You panic and say a rush of prayers in your head. "Don't worry sweetheart, I am only ensuring you behave yourself as I make a few adjustments to your restraints." He unties the rope holding you down one handed and then instructs one of the others to tie your hands and feet together. One of the other men – the fatter one, approaches you with a damp cloth but Sebastian lunges at him. He speaks in Russian but thanks to your spy training you understand every word. "No! She will be out too long if we drug her again. She has been good so far, I think this gun is a deterrent enough." The man nodded and disposed of the cloth before throwing you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing. Sebastian saying, "in the van," was the last thing you saw before the bag was forced over your head once more and you are engulfed in the blackness.

*

As if he didn't believe his eyes, Sherlock did a full 360 degree search around the room to double check they weren't hiding in the shadows.

"They're not here Sherlock."

"They have to be, they have to be."

"Ah, I see that you have arrived." Sherlock spun on his heel. In he centre of the room, perched on a stool, was a small notebook computer. Sherlock had denied its presence there at first because he didn't want to accept what it meant, but he couldn't ignore it any longer. It was talking to him.

"So this is going to be some sort of wild goose chase then?" Sherlock asked, still unimpressed by Sebastian's methods. Sebastian produced a toothy grin. 

"You will be pleased to know that Act 2 has begun. I think I have given you enough information to find your next location." He opened up his hands and moved them in the space around him; indicating everything Sherlock could see. The room was dark and damp. There was only artificial light illuminating the scene and since it was still light outside it meant there must have been no windows. There also seemed to be crates in the corner, some decades old by the looks of the dust patterns. Beth was only just in sight, her eyes blinking furiously as she attempted to communicate with the threat of the gun being pressed to her temple. Sherlock could see she was trying to keep her breathing steady as she tried not to draw attention to what she's doing. There was pure determination on her face. Sherlock did his best to focus and not let Sebastian know how much of a weakness Beth was, but Sebastian's observation skills were higher than Sherlock gave him credit for.

"She is very sensible, our leading lady, does as she is told, doesn't ask too many questions, she would be useful in my line of work."

"And what is your line of work?" Sherlock retorted.

"I'm a director," he said dramatically. Sherlock pressed his lips together and shifted from foot to foot impatiently. "You're right, you're right," Sebastian said as he noted Sherlock's impatience. "Act 2 is almost over, time for Act 3." Sebastian pinched this forefinger and thumbs together like a conductor and then ended the call. Sherlock immediately snapped his head up at John.

"Did you get it?"

"What was the point of that?" Lestrade asked, completely confused by the situation.

"Some of it, but not enough," John replied to Sherlock's question.

"Damn!" Sherlock slammed his fist against the table. He then said in reply to Lestrade's question, "he is testing me, playing me, but I'm not sure why."

"You mean like…" Lestrade, John and Sherlock exchanged glances. They had all been thinking it but none of them had dared to mention the stench of Moriarty in the air. But that was impossible, because he was dead. 

"Let's just get back to the car and decide our next move," John suggested. 

In the back seat of Lestrade's car Alex had his laptop balancing on his on his knee as he furiously typed on his machine.

"They weren't there," John told him as they returned, "and he talked to Sherlock again via webcam."

"I know," Alex muttered, concentrating on his work, "I've been monitoring the signal that it came from in case they tried to contact you again. I recorded it all for you." He turned the laptop around so they could all see the video and pressed play.

"Turn the sound of," instructed John as he began to translate Beth's blinking once more. "Pub… wine… cellar… fifteen… minutes… away… noisey… wood… beams… back… entrance… ground… to… cellar… pr-" John froze.

"What is it?"

"Oh my god," John groaned, all the fear and worry for his friend doubling, "she's pregnant Sherlock."

All the colour drained from Sherlock's already pale face. Lestrade swore as Alex looked awkwardly between them. 

"We're looking for a pub within a fifteen minute radius of this locker," Sherlock said automatically, like he was deducing unconsciously whilst his consciousness tried to digest what John had told him. "In an old building, old enough to have wooden beams, a back entrance and sells reasonably mature wine," He looked sick, like he could have thrown up at any minute.

"East Hill Pub, Chalkley Road." 

No sooner had he said it had Lestrade slammed his foot on the accelerator.

The pub was bursting with people fighting to get their order at the bar. Lestrade flashed his badge and the crowd parted to give him access to the bartender.

"Detective Inspector Lestrade of Scotland Yard, I need to see your wine cellar."

The bartender rested his arm on one of the beer pumps, his bicep muscle bulging in an attempt to intimidate.

"Do you have a warrant?"

"Do I need one?" The man shrugged, revealing an ugly tattoo under the sleeve of his shirt. 

"No warrant, no snooping."

Sherlock entered and walked up behind Lestrade, whispering in his ear, "we've found it." Lestrade politely thanked the man for his assistance before following Sherlock to the back of the building where the doors for the entrance of the cellar were wide open and the padlock used to secure them lay on the grass, cut with large bolt cutters. Once more Lestrade and John extracted their weapons and John took the lead down the stone steps. 

The room was pitched black. Sherlock felt along the wall until he felt a switch, which he flicked. A dim light flickered on and once more, but for the computer perched on a stool in the middle of the room, the place was empty.


	32. Screaming For Two Ch 5

The smell of stale alcohol floods your nostrils as you are transported from the van to the next location. You did not need to be told it was a pub, as the noise of the crowd upstairs chatted and cheered. You had done your best to time how long it took to get here from the locker, and now, as the bag on your head is removed, you survey the room for anything that may be useful in identifying where you were. You hoped to god Sherlock or John was able to decipher your message, although you didn't know what good it would do now you had moved.

"What is the point of this?" you cry as you watch Sebastian and his men set up yet another laptop and camera. You receive no answer. "Are you going to talk to Sherlock again?" Still no answer. "I want to speak to him, I want to-" Before you know it Sebastian has a gun to your right temple. You snap your mouth shut.

"That's better. I'm afraid your boyfriend and I have much to discuss, but you can see him." He nodded at the screen before signalling the fat man to take his place with the gun. "And may I suggest you make the most of pretty boy's face, you won't be seeing it for much longer."

Your heart beats wildly; you feel the pulsing of blood in your ears. If Sebastian intended to kill you anyway, what was the point of all this nonsense? Surely it would be easier to put a bullet in your head once and for all?

The webcam is turned on and Sherlock appears on the screen.

"Ah I see you have arrived," says Sebastian pleased. For a moment you want to cry out, tell Sherlock you love him, say goodbye, but the spy in you tells you to get a grip on yourself. You pull yourself together and give Sherlock all the information you can on where you were. With very little to work with, you run out of things to say, when a little voice in your head says tell him, this could be the last chance you get. On instinct you blink out those last eight letters. 

Pregnant. 

You got no reaction from any of the men on the screen and this worries you, but there was nothing you could do. Sebastian ends the call and tells his men to pack up and get you in the van. The fat one holding the gun to your head very stupidly puts it down and throws you over his shoulder once more. You could see Sebastian was between you and the exit, but his back was turned and you only needed a few seconds. Although your legs are tied together, you are able to swing them at just the right angle so that you kick him in the crotch. He howls in pain and drops you. Quickly you use your bound hands to untie your feet and force yourself up, running to the exit. 

Two bullets whiz past your ear and you hear a thud behind you. In a reflex you turn and see the man you had just kicked lying in a pool of his own blood, his eyes glazed over. You are too afraid even to scream as you make for the exit, but you run directly into Sebastian's smoking gun. 

"Be careful my dear, that could very easily have been you. Pull something like that again and it will be. Now," he accentuated every syllable of the next words with such malice that it was more frightening than the weapon he was holding, "Get. In. The. Van."

*

Sherlock didn't even bother searching the room a second time round. He went straight to the computer screen to talk to the waiting kidnapper. 

"You are good Mr Holmes; I didn't expect you to arrive so quickly."

"Too fast for you was I? You don't appear to have arrived at your next location yet." Sherlock felt a small victory as he observed Sebastian sitting in the back of a van. The van used to kidnap and transport Beth no doubt. He wondered if she was there with him.

"Not at all," he smiled, "this is Act Three."

"Sherlock," Lestrade called from the other side of the room. He pointed at his feet. "Blood."

"Oh don't you worry about that," Sebastian said, moving his head to the side as if he could see Lestrade if he did so, "I was just teaching one of my men a lesson."

"Prove it, let me see her," Sherlock growled, not ready to take the word of a criminal. Seb saw the anger flash in Sherlock's eyes. He nodded and turned the laptop round so that Sherlock and Beth were face to face. 

"Hey you," Beth breathed, her voice breaking. Sherlock took the screen in his hands, wishing it was Beth's face he was holding. 

"I'm coming, I will find you, I swear-" Sebastian snatched the computer back so the camera was on him again. He did not even try to hide the enjoyment he felt of seeing Sherlock in pain. "What is the point of this Moran?" Sherlock shouted, waving his arms about. "I have done nothing against anyone with the name Moran, I am certain, so it is not a family member. It could be a partner, but you've already said this is revenge not love, so what then?"

"You are soooo close Mr Holmes and I would love to help you, but I wouldn't want to cramp your style." Sherlock gritted his teeth. "Soon though, soon you will know. The question is; are you ready?"

"Ready for what?" Sebastian bared his sharp teeth.

"The reprise." The hiss of the 's' hung in the air as the connection was cut and the three men were left alone. 

"We have no idea where to find them; Beth had no chance to give us any clues as to where they are!" John felt like they had run out of luck. 

"Alex, we need Alex," Sherlock murmured as he darted back to the car, not bothering to wait for the others. "Alex," he called the moment he was within earshot of the young man, "get up all the CCTV in the area." He did so.

"Sherlock, hundreds of vans go in and out of London all the time, and we have no idea what we are looking for, there is no chance-"

"We are looking for a white unmarked van," Sherlock said, ignoring John's concerns, "we know that much, and since it took us about fifteen minutes to get here from the previous location, they cannot be further that fifteen minutes away, and as you say, this is London, so they cannot be far. And the van is parked; there was no sign of vehicle movement in the video."

"Got it," said Alex suddenly. "Medium sized white van, arrived six minutes ago and doesn't appear to have left. Cherry Avenue."

Once more they were off, Lestrade going maybe a little over the speed limit, and yet Sherlock still insisted he needed to speed up. At one point John had to physically restrain Sherlock from leaning over and pressing harder on the acceleration pedal with his foot.

The van was unmissable as they pulled into Cherry Avenue. Lestrade skidded the car to a stop in front of the van so that it could not drive off, and jumped out, discreetly keeping their fingers hovering over their guns. They walked around the van but could not see in as there were no windows in the back. The driver and passenger seats were empty though. Sherlock approached the back and hesitated as he placed his hand on the handle. 

"Sherlock? Sherlock help me, please!" Sherlock's heart pounded as he called Beth's name as he opened the door.

"Beth?"

He took two steps forward and picked up the tape recorder off the floor of the van. 

"Sherlock, help me pl-"

He clicked the stop button and stared at the object, standing still as a statue. Then, without warning, he threw it as hard as he could. It came down with a crash on the tarmac, shattering into pieces.


	33. Screaming For Two Ch 6

The van came to a stop and you wait to be man handled once more to the next location. But the actions you had become accustomed to do not come and this takes you by surprise. 

"Why aren't we getting out of the van?"

"Because we aren't leaving just yet," Sebastian replies, opening up the fourth laptop you had seen and fussing with the wires. 

"Why not?"

"If everything was always the same, life would be so boring," he said vaguely. 

"So you are doing the next call in here?" Sebastian smiles but does not answer. You panic internally, Sebastian was sitting opposite you so you could not get any messages across to Sherlock as you would not be in view of the camera, not that you knew where you were anyway.

You then realise Sherlock must have arrived at the pub as Sebastian began to laugh wickedly. You could do nothing but wait out the conversation and see what comes next. For a split second Sebastian lets you see Sherlock. You want to say something meaningful like 'I love you' or 'this was not your fault' but instead a slur of vowels sort of sounding like 'hey you' was all you could muster up. You were exhausted and the stress of the situation was beginning to take its toll. You couldn't care less about the throbbing pain in your head or the soreness of you skin where your restraints were tightly bound, every inch of your body was terrified for the young creature that was growing inside of you. If this man wanted to kill you, maybe you could persuade him to hold off until after you had the baby, after all the baby had done nothing wrong. There must be some human in this man! But then again, a man who straps a child to a bomb is not a man of empathy or sound mind. 

But then Sherlock said, "I'm coming, I will find you," and you realise that you did not need to think about that. Everything would be alright; Sherlock was going to get you out. You know it. 

Sebastian closed the laptop when the conversation ended and rummaged through his bag.

"What now?" you ask. Once more a gun is aimed at your forehead. The threat did not get easier with every time. 

Sebastian spoke in his softest voice as he produced a tape recorder from his bag. "You are going to record a little message for me."

*

John and Lestrade exchanged glances. The suppressed rage in Sherlock could easily boil over any minute and cause him to lash out at an unsuspecting victim. Or worse, it could cost Beth her life. Sherlock said nothing as he stalked back to the car where Alex was waiting. 

"They must have left in a different vehicle," he said through gritted teeth. Alex took the hint and sped through the CCTV footage. 

"Yes, here it is, a black Sedan. We can trace the number plate to it's own-"

"Don't bother, it will be stolen," interrupted Sherlock. "Where did it go?"

"I can follow it to a few roads away but after that there is no CCTV. It could have gone anywhere." Sherlock closed his eyes and pressed his forehead to the palms of his hands, breathing deeply through the anger. 

"What are we going to do? We have no idea where they are, or what this man wants, we don't even have any hints from Beth!" Sherlock flinched as Lestrade said Beth's name. 

"We were always given enough, he kept saying he always gave us enough," Sherlock chanted to himself. "Alex," he pointed at the technician, "get up a map of the area and mark where Moran has taken us." It took Alex less than half a minute to follow his instructions. "Would you look at that!"

"Look at what? What is it?" John asked frantically. Sherlock traced a line that joined up the dots of the three locations. 

"A perfect triangle." 

Lestrade put his hands on his hips. He could not see how drawing shapes helped the situation. 

"We need to get that number plate and run it through the system," he said, "even if it is stolen, it may tell us where they are taking her."

"No need," smiled Sherlock as he clicked his seatbelt into place. "I know where she is."


	34. Screaming For Two Ch 7

The guilt you feel for recording that message was unbearable. You feel numb as you are moved from the van to a Sedan as you drive to the next location (the final location, you are sure of it), and carried up the steps into the back entrance of an old fashioned theatre. You are taken through a maze of corridors and passageways, reading names of actors waiting for their big break tacked to the dressing room doors as you pass, until you find yourself on the main stage of the building. You are tied once more to a chair conveniently placed to the left of centre stage.

"Nice," you say with a laugh as you look around the dark room. Sebastian's men were running back and forth all over the place. You were sure there were more in the lighting box at the back who had been waiting for your arrival. The curtain had been drawn back and the seats were empty. 

"Are you ready for the final performance?" Sebastian asked as he stretched his arms out to the invisible audience, standing in the centre of the stage.

"Well thank god it isn't too dramatic," you reply sarcastically. Sebastian crooked his head to the side, looking very pleased with himself.

"I have to say, you have been one of my better victims. I like you. It almost seems a shame that you have to die." He seemed to be talking more to himself than you.

"So you do intend to kill me?" you ask surprisingly calm, all your faith still firmly rooted in Sherlock. 

"Eventually."

He gives you no more information than that. You imagined this was the moment when the victim screams at the top of their lungs, begging for help or mercy as they take their last breaths. But you would not give this man the satisfaction. 

The sound of a door opening catches Sebastian's attention. He orders all his men to take their positions and then poises himself. 

The back doors swing open with brute force and a spotlight hits Sherlock as he, John, and Lestrade entered the room.

*

Momentarily blinded, Sherlock blinked as he strutted down the aisle of the theatre towards Sebastian. He stopped just in front of the stage.

"You made it!" Sebastian clapped, insanity written all over his face. "Part of me didn't want you to work it out, but I have to admit, I am secretly pleased."

"It was obvious wasn't it?" Sherlock grunted. "This was directly in the centre of the locations you sent us to, and all those meaningless riddles, Act 1, Act 2, Act 3, you were directing me to the theatre. Well, here I am." He opened his arms wide to offer himself up. "Now let her go."

"You know I can't do that," he growled, but then he said in a much softer tone, "but I wonder if you know why." He tilted his head to the side, trying to deduce Sherlock's poker face. "Do you know who I am?"

"You are Sebastian Moran of the Palace Court Regiment."

"Yes I told you that," he said angrily, "but do you know who I am?" he asked again impatiently. Sherlock did not respond. "I am – I was – James Moriarty's second in command." Sherlock's eye twitched ever so slightly. "He approached me when I retired from the army, offered me money for a job, just one assassination, and it was a lot of money, so I took it. And then he came back for another, and then another. I worked my way into his confidence and soon I was his most trusted man. There was something about him, something that gave me the same rush, like when I was out on the battlefield, I don't expect you to understand." His eyes, which had glazed over as he thought of the memories, suddenly blazed with anger. "And then you killed him!"

"It was his finger on the detonator," said Sherlock carefully, "he killed himself."

"And you were supposed to go up with him!" screamed Sebastian as he temporarily lost control. He took a deep breath, composed himself, and then said, "well, we can fix that." He pulled out a gun from his back pocket and aimed it at Sherlock's heart. "I hope I did Jim proud, I think I did. The puzzle of the crime was never my thing; I was more the hands on type. This, however, is much more up my street." He took a step forward. Quickly John responded by drawing out his own weapon, prepared to shoot. Sebastian laughed. "I wouldn't bother Doctor Watson. If you kill me now, one of my many other men will shoot you, your friends, and his tart before you even had the chance to blink."

*

"I wouldn't be so sure," you whisper as you press a gun into Sebastian's back.

Whilst Sherlock and Sebastian had had their stand off, the SWAT team your boys had called had sneaked round the back of the building and taken all the accomplices by surprise. They had freed you from your restraints and armed you, following your lead as you took Sebastian from behind. 

Sebastian turned and saw he had been beaten, smirked, and lowered his weapon.

"How unimaginative Mr Holmes," he blinked, unphased. "The police? You couldn't handle a trained lunatic by yourself?" Sherlock smiled, holding his head high.

"The final solution need not be a complicated one."

"No, I suppose not," Sebastian murmured, he appeared to dwell on Sherlock's philosophy. He then seemed to make a decision and said, "No you are right. I came here to do one thing, and there is no reason why I should not just do it." Quickly he raised his gun once more and swung it round to face Sherlock.

A trigger is pulled. A deafening BANG is heard. Ears ring. A body sways until gravity pulls it to the ground. 

You lower your smoking gun and gaze at Sebastian's body, his dead eyes looking up at you. Was that a smile on his face? 

Last time you had shot someone you suffered from PTSD. The nightmares had haunted you and almost pulled you apart. But not this time. One less evil man was roaming the streets. No. You would sleep soundly tonight.

*

"Oh I forgot to say Sherlock," said John after the medical checks and debriefing were over.

"What?" Sherlock's voice was rough and tired.

"Congratulations!" Sherlock pulled a puzzled expression. "You're going to be a dad!"

"Another Holmes, that's exactly what this world needs," mocked Lestrade. He patted Sherlock's shoulder. "Congratulations mate."

Beth, who had been giving her version of the events to the police, joined her man by his side.

"You alright Sherlock?" she asked as she linked arms with him.

"Fine, why?"

"Because I've never seen you look so afraid."


	35. Screaming For Two Epilogue

The sound of the clashing and the rushing of doctors and nurses were no doubt deafening to anyone who should enter the room, but you heard nothing. Every inch of you was focused on the bundle of cloth lying in your limp arms as you fight back proud tears. Despite feeling weak physically, you knew that you would be and would have to be stronger now than you had ever been before, because now there was a new life that needed your love and protection. Your little baby girl.

You cannot take your eyes off her angelic face. She was looking around now, he had cried for a short while at first, but now she was just absorbing her new surroundings, meeting her parents for the first time.

The moment she was placed into your arms, you saw Sherlock's child looking back up at you. She had the same pale skin and strong cheekbone structure, her eyes sapphire blue and her eyelashes think and black. Her thick black hair stuck out at random angles from the towels she was wrapped in, and you noted a small birthmark on the back of her neck, the shape of a crescent. Although she was the spitting image of her father, she had inherited your petite nose and deep red bowed lips. Yes, she was definitely the child of you and Sherlock.

The kind-faced nurse came over and fiddled with your pillows to try and make you more comfortable.

"She's beautiful. The doctor says she is perfectly healthy and you should be able to return to the ward soon."

"Thank you," you sigh, still quite out of breath from your ordeal. 

The nurse left you to go back to her rounds and you tilt your head up to look at Sherlock who had been sat beside you the entire time clutching your hand, not saying one word. He looked incredibly pale and was staring into space.

"Sherlock?" 

"Hmm?" He unconsciously squeezed your hand as you addressed him.

"Are you okay?"

"Fine."

"I told you to wait outside," you laugh as you realise the whole birthing process had probably scarred Sherlock for life.

"And leave you alone?" He shook his head. "No."

It is your turn to squeeze his hand, and at that he finally looks at you and attempts a smile.

"Would you like to hold her?"

His eyes widen and he leans back slightly.

"No, no, no, I'd probably drop her." 

You roll your eyes.

"You idiot." You try and sit up and Sherlock immediately goes to your aid. As he stands over you, you push your baby out to him. "Go on, you're going to have to hold her at some point, I am not going to be the only one feeding and changing her." Sherlock still looked unsure, well, maybe a bit more than unsure. "Just copy what I am doing. Make sure you support her head and you're fine." He studied you for some time, how you held the baby in your left arm and then gave additional support with the right where necessary. He copied the position in the air before slowly reaching down and slipping his arm between yours and the baby. He hesitated.

"I can't-"

"Yes you can," you interrupt, and when you are sure Sherlock had control you pull your hand away so that he could not chicken out.

At first Sherlock stayed where he was, so the baby was still resting against your chest but in Sherlock's arms instead of your own, but you slowly feel the weight lifting of your body until Sherlock stood fully upright with a mass of cloth in his arms, the baby in there somewhere.

The movement had disturbed your girl and she started crying her tiny lungs out.

"Oh god, she doesn't like me," Sherlock panicked as he tried to give her back to you. You held your arms up, refusing to take her.

"Just bob up and down gently with her." He did so, but the crying did not stop. Once again he attempted to pass her back to you but you shook your head. "Talk to her!"

"How do I talk to something that has practically no intelligence and cannot talk back?"

"Firstly she is not a 'something'," you say quite sternly. "Secondly, just because she is a baby does not mean she isn't intelligence, she is your daughter after all. Thirdly, I thought you liked it when people did not talk back?" Sherlock was about to respond when he thought better of it and snapped his mouth shut. "You can talk to her about anything, I'm sure she'd love to hear about the 243 different types of tobacco ash you have documented."

Sherlock pulled a face at your sarcasm before shifting his gaze to the baby. He used his index finger to push a bit of cloth that was covering her face up out of the way as he tried to think of something to say.

"Hello baby, I-I'm Sherlock, your f-father." The cries reduced to sobs as the child looked up at the man that was talking to her. The beginning of a smile tugged at Sherlock's lips. "She looks like you," he said to you as he stroked her cheek. 

With the exhaustion catching up on you, you can do nothing but smile as you watch the two most important people in your life bond. 

"I promise you," Sherlock whispered, "that I will try and make this world a safer place for you. I will not let anything happen to you." Sherlock's eyes flicked to you and for a moment you are reminded of the old theatre and the heat of the spotlight as you were tied to the chair. But the thought is gone as you watch Sherlock plant a soft kiss on the forehead of his child as a gesture that he will keep the promise he just made. The sight of it makes you want to cry.

"Sorry to interrupt," says another nurse as she approaches Sherlock and takes a look at the baby. "We just need to put this name tag on your baby so that we know who she is." She holds up a strip of plastic much like the sort of bracelet you put on to gain entry at festivals. You nod to give her permission to do so but Sherlock looks less than comfortable as she frees one of the baby's arms so she can put the bracelet on. "What name should I put?"

You and Sherlock exchange glances, the talk of baby names had been a long one. Every time you suggested something Sherlock would be able to think of a villain with the same name, and he did not want your child to be related to them. It was only when your contractions started did the name come to you. The moment you suggested it to Sherlock his eyes lit up and he gave you a sweet smile, showing his approval.

You look over at your baby and say with the proud love of a mother, "Aurora Holmes."


End file.
